


forget you not

by scarletsxwitches



Category: Smosh
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Female Reader, Implied Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-15
Updated: 2020-05-22
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:01:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 24,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23425927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scarletsxwitches/pseuds/scarletsxwitches
Summary: how come they don't make 'em like you, babe? oh, i never expected; i shouldn't have left it, for real. we can make this hard or this easy, so before you move on i got something to tell you, for real...or: how soulmates affect gravitational pull (and also your ability to breathe).
Relationships: Shayne Topp/Reader
Comments: 5
Kudos: 38





	1. you returned and the wall comes falling down

**Author's Note:**

> i've been listening to a lot of little mix and watching a lot of smosh, and shayne topp is extremely pretty, and thus this was born. i'm a little rusty with second person stuff and i usually don't make a habit of writing in the past tense, so this is sort of an exercise in both of those skills, which means it might get a little clunky from time to time.
> 
> the band in this story is entirely fictional, but seeing as this story is inspired by little mix's songs, i just gave the band all of their music. i did not write any of the songs mentioned herein, and i'll put links to them in the endnotes so you can listen. if you're unfamiliar with little mix, you should check out their work because it's excellent and they've never written a bad song ever.
> 
> it's pretty heavily implied that the reader in this has some anxiety issues, but i tried to avoid using the word directly since i wanted to, as much as possible, avoid narrowing the amount of people that could relate to the reader; nothing takes me out of a reader-insert work faster than when the author says something about the reader that is distinctly unlike me (not a dig at other writers, just a thing i've noticed over time).
> 
> if anyone from smosh sees this i will die of mortification on the spot, which i know is a stupid thing to say as i publish this on the internet for the whole world to see, but maybe if i put a disclaimer at the front i'll be a little bit less horrified if i ever find out that any of them have stumbled upon this.
> 
> ok, with all my disclaimers out of the way, i hope that you enjoy!

Shayne knew something was up the second Courtney rounded the corner. He was sitting at his desk working on some ideas for possible upcoming videos, but he glanced up when he noticed the blonde entering. She cast a quick glance around the room, looking for somebody, and then she made eye contact with Shayne and did that thing she did when she was up to no good: a slight narrowing of the eyes, a slight upturn of the lips. She squared her shoulders and began marching directly toward him.

Great.

“Mr. Topp,” she said once she was within earshot of him. She rounded his desk and leaned back against it, folding her arms over her chest. “I have a proposition for you.”

_Great._

Shayne sat back in his chair and nodded.

“I bought concert tickets for this Saturday for me and a friend,” she began. “But my friend just canceled on me -- family emergency -- and now I’ve got no one to go with. I already asked a bunch of other people and they’re already busy. I got these tickets months ago and they’re really good tickets so they were super fucking expensive and I feel shitty just… throwing one away. So I was hoping you would go with me.”

There was a moment of silence as Shayne considered. He was pretty sure he knew what the tickets were for; Courtney had been into some girl group lately. It probably wasn’t his first pick for a concert, but he was free on Saturday and he could tell Courtney really wanted someone to come with her. Plus, he was never one to turn down a free concert ticket.

“Yeah, sure,” he said. It would be good for him to get out of the house, at least. “Why not?”

Courtney grinned and clapped her hands together. “Great! I got a really good deal on VIP tickets so there’s a photo op beforehand. I’ll text you the address, be there at five o’clock on the dot.”

Shayne nodded and smiled over his shoulder as Courtney retreated back to her own desk. With her gone, he turned back to his laptop and got back to work, considering his new weekend plans as he did so.

The band probably wasn’t his first pick, sure, but going to a concert with Courtney could never be boring. And it would sure as hell be better than sitting at his apartment alone all night. So, all things considered, he was pretty excited.

***

It had been a long time since you’d been in LA.

You’d been on-edge all day; jittery, standoffish. Being back in this city was a blessing and a curse. This was the place where you had discovered your love of music and started your career, but it was also the place where you’d suffered the worst heartbreak of your life.

It didn’t help that you’d gotten up at four o’clock that morning.

You and your bandmates had spent most of the day doing press before making your way to the venue of your concert -- not the biggest concert hall LA had to offer, but certainly not the smallest, which was bittersweet in your mind. The decently-sized venue meant you were succeeding and moving up in the world. It also meant a decently-sized paycheck. But, on the downside, it meant that the crowd would be one of the biggest you’d ever performed for. More people meant more eyes watching your every move, scrutinizing you, noticing if you did something wrong. That filled you with dread.

You took a deep breath in the dressing room mirror, trying to convince yourself that everything would be okay. In five minutes, the meet and greet/photo op for people with VIP tickets would begin. You looked stunning; black and white leotard, thigh-high boots, and a faux fur coat which would definitely cause you to overheat under the stage lights. Your makeup and hair were done up to perfection.

You were photo-ready by all accounts except your own. You couldn’t stop fidgeting with your outfit, your hair, your accessories, trying in vain to make yourself look perfect. You could never quite seem to get there.

You were startled out of your thoughts by the sound of the dressing room door opening. One of your bandmates and best friends, Carly, entered the room. She was dressed in a black-and-white outfit to match the theme, but hers consisted of high-waisted leather pants and a crop top. Her makeup was the same as yours.

“Hey,” she said, voice soft. Carly had been your friend since before the band started, and thus she knew about what had happened last time you were in LA. You didn’t like to talk about it much, partly because it made you upset and partly because you didn’t see the point in dwelling on it. It had been years ago. It was stupid to be upset about it, and yet here you were. And Carly knew because you told Carly everything, even the stupid things.

You didn’t say anything in response to her greeting. You just flashed her a tight smile and checked yourself one last time in the mirror. You took a deep breath in through your nose and out through your mouth, trying to calm your nerves. You decided that you’d have to face the music sooner or later.

“We’re all ready when you are, buttercup,” Carly said. You smiled at the sound of her nickname for you. “How’re you feeling?”

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” you replied. And then you followed her out of the dressing room.

The photo op room was pretty simple. A small room half taken up by a simple white backdrop, half taken up with lights and camera equipment. There were four stools set out for you and your bandmates. The fans would come in through a door to the band’s left, talk for a couple of minutes, take their picture, and exit out the door to the band’s right. From there, they would go to their seats in the concert hall.

All you had to do was stand there, be friendly, smile for pictures. Easy.

And for the first hour or so, it was. You met countless fans and had wonderful conversations with them. A couple of them talked to you specifically about how important and inspiring you were to them, which honestly had you a little bit speechless.

You finished up your conversation with a group of teenage girls all decked out in tour merch, smiled for your picture, and waved to them as their chaperone (one of the girls’ moms, you assumed) led them out.

With the door shut behind them, you heard the door to your left open and the next group be admitted. A girl of average height rounded the backdrop, smiling brightly. She was pretty, you noted; thin, with shoulder-length blonde hair and delicate features. She had her hand wrapped around someone’s wrist, and when your gaze lifted from their wrist to their face, your heart nearly stopped beating.

Shayne.

You knew that Carly realized it was him at the same moment you did because you felt her stiffen beside you. You groped blindly for a stool and sat down on it, forcing yourself not to bolt out of the room. It seemed that he hadn’t noticed you yet.

Carly took a step backward so she could put an arm around your shoulders. If you didn’t know any better, you wouldn’t have thought anything of it. Everyone knew you and Carly were best friends (there were even quite a few people out there who suspected you were a couple). But you knew that she was trying to ground you in reality, and for that, you were profoundly grateful.

You were also impressed with Carly’s acting ability at that moment because even as her entire body went rigid, her smile didn’t waver for a millisecond. The girl introduced herself as Courtney and began talking excitedly to Alexis, one of your other bandmates, and she seemed to be none the wiser to the sudden tension in the room.

You couldn’t tear your eyes away from Shayne even despite your best efforts to look at Courtney, or Carly, or Matt the photographer, or even the floor. He had grown up a lot since you saw him last, and he looked _good_. Seeing him again was bringing up all the conflicted feelings you’d been keeping locked inside your chest for the past five years, and you were pretty sure you were going to explode.

For the first few seconds, he wasn’t looking at the band; he turned around the room, looking at the lighting and equipment. You figured, based on the fact that you didn’t really sing Shayne’s type of music, and based on the way Courtney had been holding onto his wrist when they walked in, that it hadn’t been his idea to come to this concert.

You also figured they were probably dating, which made the revolt currently happening in your gut that much worse.

Time screeched to a halt as Shayne turned back around from inspecting the lighting equipment and immediately made direct eye contact with you. His eyes went wide and his jaw dropped slightly. Suddenly, you couldn’t hear what Courtney -- who had now moved on to talking to Piper, your fourth bandmate -- was saying. The ringing in your ears was too loud. A strangled sound was pulled out of your throat and you covered it with a loud, abrupt cough. When you looked back, Shayne seemed to be looking anywhere but your face.

And then Courtney made her way over to you. 

She was just another fan, you told yourself. Just another fan, not your ex’s new girlfriend. Just another fan, not a girl who was definitely prettier and funnier and smarter than you, who Shayne probably loved more than he’d ever loved you. Just another fan, not the girl who got to hold him at night while you slept alone in a cold hotel bed.

“Y/N!” she squealed. You swallowed hard and forced a smile onto your face. She seemed really nice, and you hated yourself for hating her. From the way she was acting, you figured that she probably didn’t know who you were. At least, who you were to Shayne. “Can I hug you? I know that’s super forward but you’re, like, my favorite singer in the whole world and I’ve been counting down the minutes until I got to meet you!”

Carly stiffened beside you again, but you ignored her. Piper and Alexis seemed to have caught on by now that something was wrong; they didn’t know who Shayne was, but they knew when you were faking a smile, and they knew that whenever Carly got protective over you, something was wrong.

Doing your best not to think about it, you nodded enthusiastically. “Of course!” you said. You slid off your stool and closed the distance between the two of you, wrapping her up in a hug. There was one awful moment when your feet hit the ground that you thought your knees wouldn’t support you, but you managed to stay upright despite the fact that your bones were turning into Jell-O. You squeezed your eyes shut and pretended you were hugging Carly, Piper, literally _any_ other human being on the planet. As soon as she pulled back, you sat back down, not trusting yourself to stand unsupported.

“Okay, picture time,” Matt said.

Courtney nodded and got over onto your right side, slinging her arm around your shoulders and beaming for the picture. Shayne took his place between Piper and Alexis.

Matt snapped a few photos and then Courtney and Shayne were ushered out of the room by one of the crew people, and it was like you could breathe again. You collapsed against Carly like a house of cards. You were fairly sure that without her there to hold you somewhat upright, you would’ve fallen off your stool and into a heap on the ground. You felt your hands start to shake and you cursed yourself for it, hated yourself for the way your throat constricted with tears.

You heard Piper ask Matt if the band could have a moment of privacy, heard the door shut as he left the room, but it was distant and muffled, like your head was underwater. You pushed yourself away from Carly and gulped in air, trying to remember how to breathe, trying desperately not to vomit.

Carly let you sit up on the stool on your own, keeping just one hand on your arm as support. She knew you well enough to know that you needed a little bit of space to breathe and get your bearings. Alexis and Piper had walked over now, forming a protective huddle around you. You curled in on yourself slightly, crossing your arms over your stomach and staring down at your knees, trying to focus on breathing.

* * *

_“We need to talk.”_

_A bolt of panic flashed through you. Shayne had just gotten home, and he was being oddly distant. You asked him how his day was and got no reply, which was strange. For a few minutes, though, you were able to rationalize it; maybe he’d just had a rough day and didn’t want to talk about it._

_But then you heard those dreaded four words, and for just a moment the world stopped turning. Your hands trembled slightly as you put your bookmark in the book you were reading and leaned forward to set it safely on the coffee table. You put on the most neutral, unaffected face you could and turned around to face him. He was leaning up against your kitchen island with his back to you. His head was bowed slightly and you could see the tension he was holding in his shoulders._

_“What’s up, babe?” you asked. All things considered, you actually managed to sound somewhat normal. You’d been half-expecting your voice to come out as a strained squeak, and half-expecting it to not come out at all. The fact that you’d managed a coherent sentence was a triumph in and of itself._

_“This isn’t working anymore.”_

_There it was. The fear you’d had since day one. The thing that kept you awake long after he’d fallen asleep. He had gotten tired of you, finally realized he was better off without you, that he could do better than you. You felt tears welling up in your eyes but managed by some miracle to hold them back. A question flashed through your mind unbidden; had he already found someone else?_

_“What?” you asked, hoping against hope that you’d heard him wrong._

_He turned to face you now, and his expression was unreadable. His eyes were stony, narrowed, distant. For a moment, you almost didn’t recognize him. You were used to Shayne as he always was; open, gentle, all warm gazes and goofy grins. In all the time you’d known him, he’d never been hard for you to read. But now he was and that was terrifying._

_“I can’t be with you,” he said. He didn’t even sound upset; no anger, no sadness. He was just… resigned, passive, like he felt nothing all. Like there was nothing you could do or say to change this. Like it was inevitable._

_You shook your head, mouth slightly agape, completely dumbfounded. You were trying to think of something to say, something poetic and beautiful that would make him reconsider, but your brain was making dial-up noises trying to compute what he was saying, and suddenly all the words in the English language escaped you entirely._

_“I’m sorry,” he said. And he shrugged._

_You didn’t cry, which took an impressive level of self-control on your end. No, you wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing you cry. If he wanted this, fine. If he felt nothing, fine. Then you felt nothing either._

_Without a word, you went into the bedroom and threw some clothes into a bag. You grabbed your laptop. You walked into the bathroom to pack the essential toiletries._

_Shayne didn’t move a muscle. He stood stock-still in the middle of your living space, staring at the place where you’d been sitting._

_Finally, with your bag packed, you walked back into the living room and picked up your phone, keys, and wallet. You also tucked the book you’d been reading into your bag. “I’ll be back in a couple days to get the rest of my stuff,” you said. “You can keep all the furniture. Stay in the apartment if you want. I’m going to Carly’s.”_

_“That’s it?” he asked. He was staring at you, brows furrowed, voice strained._

_You narrowed your eyes, confused and a little angry. “This is what you want, isn’t it? You just said that this isn’t working anymore. Am I supposed to fight? You want our last conversation to be a screaming match? I’ve been in this situation before, Shayne. There’s nothing I can say to change your mind. Better I leave now before we both say shit we regret.”_

_“I --” he began, but you were already gone._

* * *

“That was her ex,” you heard Carly say, and you realized that Piper had asked what was wrong. “He… well, there’s a lot of history there.”

Alexis and Piper both murmured sympathetically. You all had your share of shitty exes and love-related experiences; you’d all written your share of songs about it, that much was certain. Shayne was no exception there, but you were almost certain he didn’t know about your music. He had seemed just as surprised as you were when he saw you.

“Hey, sweetheart,” a new voice caused you to look up from your hunched position. Michelle, your manager, was standing there with a water bottle and a sympathetic look on her face. You took the water from her and smiled gratefully, not trusting your voice. “There are only a few fans left in line and then you’ve got some time between the photo op and mic check, okay?

“Maybe we should tell them that Y/N’s not feeling well --” Alexis began, but you held up a hand to stop her.

“I’m fine,” you said. You took a long drink of water and straightened up, put on a brave face. “I can tough it out through the last few groups. I will not disappoint people who paid money to see me, especially not over a boy.”

“That’s my girl,” Carly said, squeezing your arm before letting her hand drop back to her side. Michelle nodded and went to let the next group in. Matt the photographer reentered.

You smiled through the rest of the meet and greet, and it seemed like the fans were none the wiser. Finally, the last ones left and you felt your shoulders relax. You felt better now that some time had passed between seeing Shayne, still shaken up but far less nauseous.

“Mic check is at 6:30,” Michelle said once the last group was gone. “It’s just after six now so you’ve got a little under a half-hour to finish getting ready for the show. Take a breather, Y/N,” she said. You couldn’t help but laugh a little at that; Michelle was your manager, but she was also essentially the group’s mom while you guys were on the road. She kept you guys on schedule and on task, but always made sure your health was a priority as well. She was a godsend.

Carly, Alexis, and Piper led you back to the dressing room, where you immediately sank down into one of the armchairs in the back corner. It was half-hidden behind your costume rack, but that was alright; it was the most comfortable chair in the room, and you didn’t have to look at yourself in the mirror while you sat in it.

“I have an idea,” Carly said. You raised an eyebrow at the tone of her voice and the look on her face; that little smirk was never good. “Why don’t we sing Towers? You wrote it about him, didn’t you?”

You sighed. She was right; you had written a lot of songs about him, or at least with him in mind, and Towers was one of them. “I don’t know…” you said. On the one hand, it sounded really good. Towers was, in your opinion, one of the best songs you’d ever written, so you knew the fans would love it. And it was sort of a golden opportunity, right? When else would you get to sing one of the songs you’d written about him, one of the _last_ songs you’d written about him, in a forum where you could be sure he’d hear it?

But on the other hand, it felt cruel. Your relationship had ended in fucking flames, but it hadn’t been entirely his fault. You had done things wrong, too, and it would be childish for you to ignore that. Besides, he had clearly moved on. You didn’t want to be the one dwelling on the past and singing a song from five years ago to a boy who was already ten miles past over you.

But on the other other hand, he’d probably never even heard the song before. He wouldn’t know that you specifically had written it, and he wouldn’t know that it was about him. Maybe singing it knowing he could hear would be the thing you needed to finally get closure. He didn’t have to actually know it was about him; you just had to convince yourself that he did. And then maybe your heart would finally put the years you’d spent together to rest. You took a deep breath.

“Okay,” you said. “When’s a good time to slot it in?”

The rest of the band giggled excitedly and began pitching ideas for when it would be the best time to sing the song. You did your best to settle your nerves, still frayed from seeing Shayne and now renewed with the idea of singing this song in front of him. But you were ready. In fact, you were excited.

You just hoped it didn’t blow up in your face.

***

Shayne was pretty sure his fucking lungs were collapsing.

Courtney was talking animatedly as she led him to their seats -- which were, of course, right up against the front of the stage -- but his brain wasn’t processing any of her words. He just mumbled his approval occasionally; yeah, the blonde’s outfit was really pretty, sure, they were all so nice. He desperately wanted to get out of this arena. He considered feigning a stomach ache and going home, but he’d feel like an asshole if he did. He certainly didn’t want to tell Courtney the truth for fear of ruining the concert (or, even worse, the band as a whole) for her. He had no way out; he’d have to suck it up and get through the concert. Once it was done, _then_ he could go home and scream into his pillows to his hearts content.

He was so taken up by the whirlwind of emotions, thoughts, and memories running through his head that he almost slammed into Courtney as she stopped short, evidently having found their seats. He caught himself just in time to avoid hitting her, luckily, but not in time to avoid her noticing that something was up. “You okay?” she asked. Damn her and her perceptiveness.

“Uh, yeah,” he said. “Just, um… I’m gonna run to the bathroom. I’ll meet you back here.”

She nodded, and he barely even heard her little “okay” before he was walking quickly up the aisle toward the exit. He felt his throat spasming around tears and gritted his teeth against the sensation. He refused to cry. It had been years. He should’ve been over this.

He made his way toward the men’s bathroom and felt relief flood his system when he discovered it empty. He supposed it was still over an hour before the show started; the only people here were the arena crew, the band’s people, and the VIP ticket holders.

Shayne braced himself against the sink counter and gave himself a long, hard look in the mirror. All things considered, he looked alright. His eyes were a little red but he didn’t look like he’d been crying, and his breathing was coming a little more evenly now that he had the time to collect himself.

He just hadn’t been expecting to see you, that was all. It definitely wasn’t that some part of him was still in love with you, that he was kicking himself for letting you get away, and that seeing you in person had brought back every ounce of self-loathing over what had happened. No, it wasn’t that; he’d just been caught off guard. You had seemed pretty stricken yourself, if your widened eyes and shallow breathing had been any indication. His chest tightened at the notion that he may have caused you any anxiety or pain before you had to perform, especially on top of the damage he had already done so long ago.

_Breathe, Shayne. Just breathe._

He nodded at himself in the bathroom mirror and went to rejoin Courtney. The whole time, he was desperately trying to convince himself that he would just enjoy the concert. He resolved to ignore the fact that it was _you_ up there singing and dancing (and wearing an insanely revealing costume that hugged your curves in all the right places). He could still have fun.

He _would_ still have fun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> links to mentioned songs:  
> * forget you not (work title) -- https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=skLx8dB0GGc  
> * towers (chapter title, mentioned) -- https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3OdJB9LnD9o


	2. your voice a serenade and it sings to my heart

Your break seemed to pass in no time, and then it was time for mic check. You noted Courtney and Shayne sitting in the front row and wondered silently if God was punishing you for something you’d done. Maybe this was karma from a past life.

Doing your best not to look at him, and pushing down the absurd hope that he’d be looking back at you if you did, you went through mic check as quickly as possible and made your way back into the safety of the dressing room. With mic check done, the concert would begin in less than an hour, and you were starting to reconsider singing Towers. The front row of the arena was close enough to the stage that you’d be able to see him even with all the stage lights, and you weren’t sure you could sing the song if you had to actually look him in the eye while you did it. It was one thing to know he was in the room, another entirely to actually watch his reactions.

But Carly had already gotten Michelle to coordinate with the sound people and the backup dancers, and you didn’t want to have to force them to go back on all that. You couldn’t back out now.

That knowledge weighed on you up to the start of the show, and then you got your game face on. You had no time to dwell on Shayne once you were out of the dressing room, doing warmups as you made your way to the lift below the stage, performing your preshow ritual which involved some call-and-response singing and a lot of hugs, and then getting into position on the lift which would bring you up from beneath the stage floor.

You could already hear the audience cheering and talking, and you felt your heart skip a beat at the sound of it. You counted out the beats in your head as the intro music started, the lights began to flash, the dancers got into place, and the lift began to rise.

“ _Make way for the G-O-double-D-E-S-S._ ” The mantra of your newest album, and the way you began your show. The band harmonized this phrase a few times before the song, and the concert, began in earnest.

It went well. You were right; you could just make out Shayne’s face even through all the stage lights. But for the first few songs, you were so occupied with remembering your choreography and making sure you sounded good that you could sort of forget he was there.

And then it was time for Towers, and your heart fell into your stomach.

“We’ve got a little bit of a treat for you tonight,” Alexis said. The audience quieted slightly as she spoke, obviously wanting to know what she was talking about. “We’re gonna take it back a little bit. We haven’t sung this live in quite some time, so forgive us if it’s a bit rusty.”

You heard the familiar drumbeat of Towers begin to play. The audience started screaming immediately, obviously recognizing the song right away, and you grinned despite your nerves. For the time being, you managed to keep your eyes off of Shayne. You focused instead on Carly as she began to sing the first verse of the song.

And then it was your verse, and you stared out at the sea of nondescript shapes that made up the majority of the audience; you could only see the first few rows before they became dark, vaguely person-shaped forms. “ _It’s a shame, you’re to blame, ‘cause once you owned my heart_ ,” you sang. It sounded a little wobbly, but overall it was okay.

You made it through the first line of your verse before your eyes betrayed you. You couldn’t stop yourself any longer; you looked at Shayne.

He was staring directly at you. You couldn’t make out much of his expression, but it seemed… pained, like he was sad.

The sound died in your throat and you heard the audience murmur as you stopped singing. You looked from Shayne to the rest of the audience and then to Carly, who was nodding in an attempt to be encouraging. You took a deep, shuddery breath, frantically trying to get your shit together. You could hear the audience trying to help you by singing the lyrics you were missing, and you were vaguely aware of Alexis and Piper holding their microphones out to the crowd in encouragement, but everything was sort of blurry.

You kept your eyes locked on Carly. You would not look at Shayne. You couldn’t. You knew that he was hearing you, and that would just have to be enough. You opened your mouth to sing again.

“ _I still feel love when I see your face, but all these tears I can’t erase._ ” Luckily, you had only missed a couple of bars of the song and were able to pick up just about where you had left off. You hoped the audience would just chalk it up to what Alexis said before the song started; it had been a while since you’d sang Towers live. “ _Sorry heart, I’m sorry heart but we’ll have to start again._ ”

And then, like an angel from heaven on high, Piper began to sing. You had a momentary reprieve to collect yourself and take a deep breath. Since performing this song was so impromptu, there was no choreography for you to remember, nothing to think about as Piper sang her bit.

The second chorus was yours, and you weren’t sure what came over you but you looked at Shayne again as you began to sing and this time, you didn’t stop. You didn’t look away. Maybe it was all the pent-up emotion finally being released, or maybe it was just the energy in the room making you braver than you might’ve normally been, but you held his gaze through the chorus: “ _you never brought me flowers, never held me in my darkest hours. And you left it so late that my heart feels nothing, nothing in towers. Once we were made like towers. Everything could’ve been ours, but you left it too late, now my heart feels nothing, nothing at all._ ”

You felt a tear drip down your cheek as you sang, but you forced yourself to push through it. You were sure the audience had probably noticed the shaky quality of your voice by now.

You continued to look at Shayne while Alexis began singing the bridge. You thought you saw him reach up and wipe at his face like he was wiping away a tear, but that was probably a trick of the stage lights. It had to be. Why would he be crying?

As the final chorus began and Piper belted out her high notes, you watched him in sort of a daze. He reached up to swipe at his cheek again, and then he stood up and started walking toward the exit. You lost him in the crowd almost immediately.

If that was what closure was supposed to feel like, then closure was pretty fucking useless.

***

The evening air hit Shayne like a freight train as he stumbled out of the arena and into the night. He took in a gulp of air and wiped at the tears on his cheeks, letting out a pitiful noise of frustration and anguish. He sat on the edge of the sidewalk. He bowed his head between his knees, ran his hands through his hair, and tried to remember how to breathe.

It had been going alright, all things considered. He felt a little bit like he was getting the shit beat out of him as he watched you grind on backup dancers and sing about love and moving on and strength and how you didn’t need a man, but other than that he’d been having fun; the show was good, not just from a musical standpoint but from a technical standpoint as well. He could tell that you and your bandmates had put countless hours into learning dance routines on top of singing everything, which was really impressive. Costumes and special effects made the show feel complete.

And you had been utterly ethereal, silhouetted by stage lights and grinning as you walked around the stage like you owned it. It had seemed, for a while, that you were having the time of your life. That you’d forgotten he was even there.

Your bandmate -- Alexis or Piper, he couldn’t be positive which -- said you were doing an older song, and Courtney reached out to grab his forearm like she’d just won the lottery. When the intro started playing, she shot out of her seat to sing along. For the first few seconds, it was fine. Just another song.

When you started to sing, though, you looked at him, and he felt his heart ripped from his chest and stomped into the ground like it meant nothing. You seemed so sad, so angry, so _accusatory._ And you had every right to be, he knew.

But it was when you stopped singing, when you made that little sound that he knew meant you were about to cry, it was then that the room slowed and shrank around him. The air was punched out of his lungs and he couldn’t seem to get any more. He felt like his world had gone off-kilter, like he was careening at lightspeed into the sun.

You tore your eyes away from him and looked at Carly, who nodded at you. You seemed to find your voice again, and oh, it was like fire curling out from his ribs and up into his throat. He was utterly transfixed by you; he couldn’t look away even as one of your other bandmates began to sing.

“ _You never bought me flowers_ ,” you sang, and you were looking at him again, all that sadness and fire behind your eyes. He felt his throat spasm around a sob, felt his eyes burn. “ _Never held me in my darkest hours._ ” God, you were right; he’d fucked up so monumentally. “ _And you left it so late that my heart feels nothing, nothing in towers_.” This was when the tears started to fall.

The rest of your words were sort of a blur. All he could focus on was your eyes boring into his.

Eventually, he couldn’t take it anymore. He stood up and rushed out, and now here he was, close to hyperventilation on a gross LA sidewalk.

His phone buzzed in his pocket. It was Courtney asking where he’d gone, making sure he was okay. He typed back that he had just needed to get some air. He was grateful when she didn’t reply.

In all honesty, he wasn’t sure how long he sat on that sidewalk. He didn’t want to go back inside. He wasn’t sure if he could see you without dissolving into tears all over again. He wanted to go home; or, even better, he wanted to go to Damien’s and cry on his couch and eat ice cream until he couldn’t think straight. But he knew Courtney would be worried and disappointed if he left early, and she would push him for a reason, and he couldn’t tell her. This was her favorite band. 

He didn’t want to change her opinion just because he was still pining over a relationship that ended years ago.

He sniffled, stood up, and dusted off his jeans. Before he went back inside, he sent Damien a text asking if he could come over after the concert. Damien’s answer came quickly; sure, he wasn’t busy. Shayne let out a sigh of relief and made his way back into the arena.

You didn’t look at him for the rest of the show.

***

Luckily, the concert ended sooner rather than later. You and your bandmates waved and called goodbyes as you disappeared beneath the stage floor. Shayne, anxious to get out of the arena, was out of his seat as soon as the house lights turned back on. He rocked up on the balls of his feet while Courtney gathered her stuff.

Once she was ready to go, Shayne began pushing through the crowds toward the exit. It took a while, but he finally managed to get out of the building with Courtney in tow.

“So, did you like it?” she asked as they walked back to their cars. Shayne stuffed his hands into his pockets and did his best not to look like a kicked puppy.

“Yeah, it was pretty good,” he said.

“I thought it was great. I was so surprised when they sang Towers; it’s one of my favorite songs by them. And they all sounded so great, too.”

Shayne tuned her out for most of the walk, too deep in his own feelings to give Courtney his full attention. Once they made it back to their cars, they hugged and went their separate ways.

He’d never been so anxious to get to Damien’s.

He was greeted, as usual, by the cats. They meowed up at him and twined around his legs, almost like they knew he was upset. He leaned down to scratch behind their ears. Damien shouted a greeting from the kitchen.

Shayne didn’t respond, just toed off his shoes and went to sit down on the couch. He leaned back against the throw pillows and closed his eyes for a while, lulled into a sort of trance by the sound of the sink running in the kitchen.

* * *

_Shayne turned up on Damien’s doorstep with hunched shoulders and red-rimmed eyes. He reached for the doorknob and, as Damien had said he would, found it unlocked. Zelda and Freyja swarmed around his legs as he entered, purring and twining around him. He smiled softly down at them but didn’t stoop to pet them. He was pretty sure if he crouched to their level he wouldn’t be able to get back up; the exhaustion and sadness and disappointment in his system felt so intense, so bone-deep and pervasive, that he was fairly certain he might keel over unconscious any second._

_He shuffled over to the couch and collapsed onto it, groaning into one of the throw pillows. He’d only been there for a minute or so when Damien emerged from the bathroom. Shayne heard his friend suck in a sharp inhale at the sight of him and realized that Damien probably hadn’t heard him come in. “Sorry,” he said, “didn’t mean to scare you.”_

_“It’s fine,” Damien replied. “I just didn’t realize you’d get here so fast. You want something to drink?”_

_Shayne thought for a second and then decided against it. “No,” he replied. “I’m not thirsty.”_

_Damien didn’t respond, though Shayne did hear his footsteps receding into the kitchen. He came back after a few seconds with a bottle of water. Once he had made himself comfortable on the couch and taken a long drag of said water, he peered at Shayne for a long moment. Shayne didn’t look back at him; he was fixated on a point off to Damien’s left, and he was only half-aware of his surroundings, anyway. He didn’t need to look at Damien’s face to know what he’d find there: confusion, disappointment, probably some anger._

_“What happened?” Damien asked. That question was almost worse than the uncomfortable silence._

_“I don’t know,” Shayne replied, and it wasn’t a lie. “I don’t… dude, I don’t fucking know. I panicked, I ended things, and she just… she just left. She didn’t even try to fight it.”_

_“Please tell me that’s not you trying to blame her for this,” Damien said, and Shayne could hear the anger creeping steadily further into his voice. He squeezed his eyes shut, scrubbed a hand over his face, and reached for the water bottle. He downed the rest of it and set it on the end table. With the water gone, he sat up and turned so that he could face Damien._

_“I’m not. It’s my fault. I’m not stupid enough to try to deny that.”_

_“Well, you’re stupid enough to end a three-year relationship for no good goddamn reason, so at this point, I’m not a hundred percent sure where all of your brain cells have fucked off to.”_

_Shayne grimaced at the biting words as if Damien had taken a physical swing at him, unable to help the wounded sound that lodged itself in his throat. He didn’t try to fight it, though. Damien was right._

_There was a moment of tense silence. Damien sighed and shook his head, and then his form softened; his shoulders relaxed and some of the ire left his eyes. “I’m sorry,” he said. “That was harsh. I just… I’m just confused, dude. I thought you guys were happy. This is kind of coming out of nowhere.”_

_“The other day, we talked about getting married. And we both agreed that it was something we wanted.”_

_Damien’s brow furrowed. “Oh… kay?” he said slowly, sounding out each vowel. “That kind of proves my point, Shayne.”_

_“Today, I got home and she was sitting on the couch and she asked me how my day was and I panicked. Suddenly, it was just… too much. And I started talking before I could think about it. And from there it was like I was completely out of control, like I couldn’t shut myself up. The look on her face… that look is gonna haunt my fucking dreams. And by the time I realized what I had done, by the time I was about to get down on my knees and beg her to stay, she was gone.”_

_Another long few seconds of silence. Shayne realized with a start that he was crying. He took a shuddering breath and wiped at the tears on his cheeks._

_“I’m scared, Dames,” he continued. “She didn’t fight it. She just… she just packed a bag and went. Maybe she wanted this, maybe she was waiting to tell me. Maybe she wasn’t happy. Maybe that’s why she didn’t fight.”_

_Damien looked at him like he had grown a second head. “You’re crazy, Shayne. She was… she_ is _so utterly in love with you. Think about the shit you’ve gone through together. Do you honestly believe that she would’ve stuck around this long if she wasn’t happy with you?”_

_“I texted her after she left,” Shayne said. “Right before I texted you. I apologized and asked if we could talk more. She hasn’t responded.”_

_“Can you blame her?” Damien asked. Shayne shrugged feebly. “She’s probably with Carly right now. I’d bet any money Carly told her not to answer, and that’s probably for the best. Wait at least until tomorrow and give her a call. You both need a little time to calm down, but you can still fix this.”_

_Shayne nodded, but he knew deep down that it was done. You were done._

* * *

Shayne was startled out of his memories as, in the present, Damien sat down on the couch next to him. He opened his eyes and looked at his best friend, and he knew without having to see himself that he had the same expression as he’d had five years ago; shocked, distant, utterly devastated.

“You okay, man?” Damien asked. Shayne scrubbed his hand over his face and let out a long, frustrated sigh. “That bad?”

“You’ll never guess who I ran into today,” Shayne began. Damien didn’t say anything, just sort of cocked his head as a sign for Shayne to continue. “Y/N, of all people.”

Damien perked up at the mention of your name, but then shrank back down and made a sympathetic sound in the back of his throat. “Was she at the concert or something?”

“Oh, not only was she at the concert,” Shayne said. He surged upward so that he was sitting up straight, feeling a surge of frustration course through him. “No, she’s in the fucking band.”

Damien’s eyes widened and his mouth dropped into a sort of shocked “oh” shape. Shayne nodded and threw his hands in the air for emphasis.

“So not only am I caught completely off guard seeing her again during the photo op or whatever, but then I’ve gotta watch her for the whole concert. And she sang this song that I just --” his voice died in his throat as he remembered the look on your face, that same look from years ago, so wholeheartedly hurt.

“I’m sorry, Shayne,” Damien said. It was clear that he wasn’t sure what to do. “Do you wanna talk more or do you wanna take your mind off it?”

Shayne sighed again. “I think I just need a distraction. Let’s find a comedy special or something to watch.”

Damien nodded and turned the TV on, scrolling through Netflix until he found something they agreed upon. Shayne drifted in and out of sleep for a while, exhausted from the emotional whiplash of the day, before he finally passed out on Damien’s couch.

***

He woke up to a sharp pain in his neck and the smell of bacon frying in the kitchen.

“Morning,” Damien greeted him as he entered. “Figured I’d make some breakfast.”

Shayne nodded his thanks and went to the fridge for some water, and then he sat down on a stool at the breakfast counter. His phone was almost dead, but there was just enough power to make sure he hadn't missed anything important. He checked his texts, listened to a voicemail from his dentist’s office about an upcoming appointment, and then scrolled through his emails.

There was one in his work inbox which caught his eye; the filming schedule for the upcoming week. He clicked on the email and scrolled down until he got to the attached document. At the top, Monday, he and Damien would be filming a guest Try Not to Laugh. When his eyes scanned across the page to see who the guest was, his heart dropped into the pit of his stomach.

There, written in clear, bold print, was the name of your band.

And Shayne’s lungs were caving in all over again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> links to mentioned songs:  
> * forget you not (work title): https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=skLx8dB0GGc  
> * lightning (chapter title): https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JabFmebUZTM  
> * joan of arc (mentioned): https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Y_IpTWEy9vo  
> * towers (mentioned): https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3OdJB9LnD9o


	3. uh-oh, uh-oh, here i go again

Sunday morning brought with it more Twitter notifications than you’d gotten in a long time. Your alarm went off obscenely early yet again; you had a full day ahead of you. The band was recording a new single which would be released sometime later in the year (the date was still up in the air) and you had decided to do it while you were in LA since you could work with a few producers that you’d never met before.

So, at five o’clock in the morning, you rolled over in your hotel bed and groped around on your nightstand for your phone. You shot upright when you saw how many notifications you had, a bolt of panic going through you at first. What the hell could’ve happened to result in so much activity?

You scrolled through a couple of your mentions before you got to a tweet from some gossip site. There was a photo of you from the concert the night before, probably taken by a fan if the quality was anything to go by. You were mid-note, your mouth open around a word, and it was pretty obvious that you were crying. The tweet read: “‘You never brought me flowers’! Y/N Y/L/N tears up while singing her band’s hit song Towers. Could there be a mystery man that caused her to get so emotional on stage…?”

Carly mumbled a good morning from the bed next to yours. You didn’t reply. You barely even noticed her leaving the main area of the room and heading into the bathroom; you were too busy looking through the replies to the tweet. They were all pretty tame, but you still felt a pit opening up in your stomach. You didn’t have any press that day since you were recording the new single, but the next day was chock-full of interviews and other promotional shit. Your Twitter feed was showing no signs of slowing down, and you really didn't want to have to explain to some random interviewer that you'd been crying because you still weren't over a breakup from five years ago.

“Everything okay?” Carly asked. You looked up, startled, and realized that she had come back from the bathroom. “You seem… distraught.”

You beckoned her over to your bed and showed her the original tweet from the gossip site. Carly gasped and took your phone from you, beginning to scroll through the replies. “Jesus,” she said. “This’ll be a shitstorm.”

“I know,” you replied. You glanced over at the clock on the nightstand and sighed; you needed to get up and ready for the day. Carly gave your phone back to you.

You muted your Twitter notifications for the time being, not wanting to be distracted while you were recording the new single. If an interviewer brought it up you’d just find a way to gloss over it.

You shuffled into the bathroom and did your usual morning routine. You decided to forego makeup for the day since you’d just be sitting around a studio all day, anyway. You dressed in comfortable clothes for the same reason. You figured it would be a little bit hard to focus on recording if you were in heels or tight jeans or something similarly uncomfortable, and you wanted to save your remaining nice clothes for the following day, anyway. Sweatpants and an old t-shirt it was.

Once you were dressed and somewhat ready to face the world, you and Carly grabbed your bags and went out into the hallway. Alexis and Piper were still in their room next door, but they let you and Carly in so that you could all sit and talk while they finished getting ready. Once you were all good to go, you met up with Michelle in the lobby and got into the car that would take you to the studio.

It was a pretty cool space; chill, with couches and chairs spread out around the mixing board where the producers would work their magic. You met the audio engineers as you were walking in, and everyone shook hands and went in to get to work. They seemed nice, and they definitely had a lot of cool ideas for what might enhance the song’s sound. You and the rest of the band had already worked out the lyrics and a basic melody, but the recording technicians had some ideas to really make the song pop.

The day passed in a blur of singing and listening and revising, and then repeating the process all over again. By the time you left, the sun was touching the western horizon and the song was almost finished; just a few final edits before it would be perfect and ready for release. “We’ll get it to Michelle in the next couple of days,” one of the producers said.

You were exhausted as you collapsed back into your hotel bed, but it was a good sort of exhaustion; the kind of sated tiredness that comes with a good day’s work.

You were flying so high, in fact, that you’d almost forgotten about all the Shayne drama. You fell asleep with a slight smile on your face, and your sleep was peaceful and dreamless.

***

That pleasant warmth of a job well done was ripped from you almost as soon as the next day began. Your first interview was with a local radio station, and it went alright for about five minutes; you exchanged pleasantries with the hosts, Joe and Maggie, and sat down between Carly and Alexis for your interview.

The hosts did their intro, introduced the band, and explained that you were currently in LA on the west coast branch of your current tour. Once that was done and the band had all said hello, Maggie turned to you, and the smile she flashed you was… strangely apologetic.

And then you remembered. Shayne, Towers, crying onstage. That apologetic smile hit you so fast it practically gave you whiplash.

“So, ladies,” Maggie said. “There was some interesting news about your concert on Saturday. You guys sang your song Towers -- beautiful song, by the way -- and Y/N… there were a couple of tears there, huh? Anything you can tell us about that? Is everything okay?”

From beside you, Carly opened her mouth, probably to say that you didn’t want to talk about it, but you stopped her with a hand on her arm. Her willingness to defend you meant a lot, but if you didn’t address it, it would just keep getting brought up. At least if you answered this you could do some damage control. “Yeah,” you said. “Um, I actually lived in LA for a while before meeting these lovely ladies and starting up the band with them. And while I was here, I was in a pretty serious relationship with a guy -- I won’t say his name for privacy’s sake -- and we broke up. I guess being back in LA and singing that song just… brought back some memories. But that was all; no new mystery man or anything like that, I’m afraid.”

There, that was a good enough answer. It held enough of the truth that you felt confident they wouldn’t press you for any more information, but you hadn’t told them the exact real reason. They didn’t know he was in the room, and they didn’t know who he was.

Maggie smiled and nodded, and Joe asked another question about the band that was unrelated to your love life, which brought a wave of relief sweeping over you. You smiled and laughed through the rest of the interview, chiming in with answers whenever it felt appropriate, and then said your goodbyes as the hosts transitioned into the next song

All things considered, that hadn’t been so bad.

Once you were out of the radio station headquarters and into your car, Michelle got back to business. “Alright, next up… another interview which won’t be broadcasted live. You guys are performing Think About Us while you’re there. Then we have an hour for lunch. After lunch, you’ll film a video with Smosh, and then another radio interview after that, and then you’re free for the day. Assuming everything goes to plan.”

You nodded and settled into easy conversation with the girls during the car ride to your next venue. You were pretty excited to film with Smosh; you hadn’t seen any of their recent stuff, but you were familiar with them in that you had heard of them and you knew they primarily made comedic content. You figured that would probably mean it would be a fun time to film there.

The next interview went just fine, and the performance went even better. For lunch, you and the rest of the team got food at a cute little bistro near Smosh’s offices.

When you arrived after your lunch break you were greeted by Ian Hecox, the president of the company. He was super friendly, greeting you all with handshakes and a warm smile. Once you’d all been introduced he began to lead you through the office space, explaining that you’d be recording an episode of their ongoing Try Not to Laugh series. As he launched into an explanation of the rules, a hand on your shoulder made you tense and whip around, surprised. This brought you face to face with…

“Damien?”

Your eyes widened almost comically as you saw the man standing before you. He looked a little different since you’d seen him last; his hair was longer and streaked with blue, and he carried himself a little taller, a little prouder. But he still had that same boyish smile, those same brown eyes. He was still Damien, and he was _here_.

“Hey, Y/N,” he said.

You laughed, shocked and joyful, and threw your arms around his shoulders, practically launching yourself onto him. He hugged you back tightly. When you pulled back, you punched him jovially on the arm.

“It’s so good to see you!” you said, a little breathless. “What are you doing here?

“I work here. I’ll actually be filming with you guys this afternoon,” he replied

“No way, that’s crazy!” You leaned back and perched your hands on his hips, surveying him, half disbelieving.

He nodded and opened his mouth to speak again, but Ian’s voice interrupted your reunion. “You two, uh… you two know each other?”

“Yeah,” you said, glancing over your shoulder. “I knew Damien… God, ages ago. We were really good friends.”

Carly’s eyes now widened in recognition. She smiled at Damien and raised her hand in greeting to him.

“Hey, Carly,” he said. He put his hand on your forearm and you turned back to face him again. The look on his face made your smile fade a little bit; he seemed nervous and a little sad. “Y/N, I should warn you --”

“Holy shit!” another voice interrupted you two, this one distinctively female. And also… strangely familiar. You turned toward the source and what you saw felt like two consecutive throat punches.

Courtney, Shayne’s new girlfriend, was standing across the room. She seemed to have just entered, and judging from the wide-eyed look on her face, she was just as surprised as you were. Standing directly next to her, staring at the floor by your feet… was Shayne himself.

You heard Damien mutter something under his breath, but your brain didn’t fully process what he said. You were too busy looking at Courtney and Shayne and wondering why the hell they were here. Before you could say anything, though, Ian stepped forward.

“Sweet, we’re all here,” he said. “Y/N, Alexis, Piper, Carly, this is Shayne and Courtney. Shayne’s gonna be filming with you guys this afternoon --” of course he was “-- and Courtney is --”

“Your biggest fan!” the girl interrupted him, and even despite the resentment you couldn't help feeling toward her, you had to admit that she was really sweet. She seemed like someone you might be really good friends with were it not for the fact that she was dating your ex, which made you feel even worse; she hadn’t done anything to deserve your hatred, but here you were hating her anyway. “You probably don’t remember, but I was at the concert on Saturday. It was super good, you guys crushed it.”

“I remember,” you said, because you didn’t know when to shut up. Courtney’s jaw dropped onto the floor. “Yeah, I remember. You guys came together, didn’t you?”

The accusation was clear, at least to those in the know; Carly went pale, Piper inhaled sharply, Alexis started coughing, Damien shuffled his feet nervously, and Shayne opened his mouth to speak. Before he could say whatever he wanted to, though, he seemed to think better of it and closed his mouth again.

Courtney didn’t seem to pick up on anything unusual, though, because she just nodded happily and went on talking.

“Yeah, we did!” she said, slinging her arm around Shayne’s shoulders. If you didn’t know any better, you would’ve said that he stiffened as she pulled him into her side. His face tightened into a grimace, but you couldn't possibly imagine why. It was obvious that they were together. He didn’t need to hide that for your sake. “I was so fucking pumped when you guys sang Towers, you don’t even understand. That’s one of my favorite songs by you guys and you crushed it, especially you Y/N. Your part always hits a little different for me.”

 _Yeah, you and me both_ , you thought. But you smiled and nodded happily. “I’m glad you liked it!” you said. You turned back to the band and made eye contact with Michelle. She raised an eyebrow. You inclined your head just slightly toward Ian. She nodded; she knew what you needed.

“I hate to interrupt,” she said, “but we should probably get this show on the road. The girls have got a packed schedule today.”

“Of course!” Ian said. “Courtney, maybe you can harass them more if they have time when we’re done filming. But for now, Shayne, Damien, ladies, follow me.”

You hurried to catch up to the rest of the band. Carly and Alexis fell into step with you while Piper started walking behind you, obviously trying to shield you from Shayne’s gaze. You had another moment of profound gratitude for these girls; they took care of you when no one else would, they loved you when you couldn’t love yourself, and they always seemed to know what you needed without having to ask. That shared strength and love was one of the reasons the band had stayed together for so long.

* * *

_Impressively enough, you managed to keep your shit together until you got to Carly’s. You didn’t bother texting her to let her know that you were coming. She’d let you in if she was home, and if she wasn't home, you knew her building code and where she kept her spare key._

_Luckily, she was home; she let you up to her apartment without question._

_Only once you’d crossed the threshold of your best friend’s apartment did you allow yourself to cry. You crumpled like a piece of paper against her and let out a sob so loud it bordered on a scream. Carly maneuvered you back onto her couch, sat down with you, and held you until you could talk. You were still crying when you pulled away from her, but you’d gotten out the full-body sobs._

_“Honey, what happened?” Carly asked. You could hear the concern in her voice; it was rare that you showed up at her place unannounced, and even rarer that you started the visit by scream-crying into her shirt. She probably thought somebody was dead._

_“Shayne got home from work and ended things,” you said. “Just… no warning, no ceremony, nothing. Three days ago he asked me my fucking ring size and today he told me that we aren’t working anymore. And I don’t understand because I thought he was happy! I thought we were good! I thought that we’d be fucking picking a date for our wedding, not for when I’m gonna come move out the rest of my shit!”_

_Before Carly could respond, your phone vibrated. You took it out and couldn’t help your tearful, almost-manic laugh at what you saw there; a text from Shayne, apologizing, asking if you would come home and talk. You went to reply, but Carly grabbed your phone and held it away from you before you could._

_“Hey!” you exclaimed, lunging for your phone. She was an expert at keep-away, though, and you couldn’t even get close. You cursed yourself for all the nights out where you asked her to keep your phone away from you if you got too drunk. “Carly, give me my phone!”_

_“Promise me you won’t text him back and you can have it,” she said._

_“That’s ridiculous! Of course I’m gonna text him back!”_

_“Is that a good idea?” she asked. She cocked an eyebrow. “If you can honestly tell me that you think it’s a good idea for you to say anything to him right now, I’ll give you your phone back.”_

_That knocked some sense into you. Immediately, the fight left your body and you sat back on the couch. She studied you for a moment and then leaned forward to set the phone on the coffee table. When you didn’t go for it, she relaxed and leaned back._

_“Sorry,” you said. “I’m all over the place.”_

_“I know. It’s okay. That’s what I’m here for, right? Now, walk me through what happened.”_

_“He came home and he was being weird, and he was like ‘hey can we talk’ and then he basically just said that it isn’t working anymore and that he can’t be with me. He didn’t give me a reason besides that and I didn’t ask him for one. I just packed a bag and came here.”_

_Carly nodded, considering. “That’s really fucking weird.”_

_“Honestly, I’m surprised it took this long,” you said. At her shocked expression, you shrugged. “I’ve always said that he’s out of my league, right? It was only a matter of time before he got tired of me and realized he could do better. He probably realized that if we got married, he’d have a hell of a harder time getting away from me.”_

_“Were it not for the state of emotional peril you’re in right now, I would slap you,” Carly said. You let out a startled laugh; of all the things she could've said, you weren't expecting that. “That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard you say, and I’ve known you for a_ long _time. If that was true -- which it isn’t, by the way, you’re the sexiest, most beautiful, smartest, funniest, greatest person I know -- it wouldn’t have taken him three years to ‘get bored.’ This is one of the dumber stunts he’s pulled, which is saying something. But this isn’t your fault. He’s the asshole here, regardless of his reasoning. If you want to talk to him and try to work things out, that’s your business. But whether or not things work out, this will always be on him. And I’ll be here every step of the way, buttercup.”_

_You nodded gratefully, even though you didn't believe her. You’d never been good enough for Shayne. This was always inevitable. Still, you put on a brave face for Carly. Better she didn’t know what you were really thinking. “You’re right,” you said. “Thanks, Carly.”_

_You could tell from the look on her face that she didn’t completely believe you, which wasn’t surprising. Carly always knew when you were lying. But she also knew when to let an issue lie. “Good,” she said. “Now, Bridesmaids or Legally Blonde?”_

* * *

Ian led the group to a colorful sound stage. To the right was a partition, and behind it a bunch of strange props and costume pieces. To the left was a single stool, a piano, and some bongos.

The room was swarming with activity as crew people moved around getting everything set up and ready to go. Shayne and Damien led you over to the set. “Y/N, why don’t you sit in the stool for the intro?” Shayne said, the first words he’d said to you since you had broken up. His voice was professional and upbeat, betraying almost no emotion. “And then I’ll stand to your right, Damien will be behind me, and the rest of the band can be to your left.”

“Sounds fine to me,” you said, and you hoped your voice sounded less forced to him than it did to you. You sat on the stool, glad to be off your feet; your balance was suddenly fucked now that Shayne was next to you, and you were afraid you wouldn’t be able to keep yourself upright if you tried to stand for much longer.

Shayne went to go check something with a cameraperson, and the girls formed another huddle around you. Carly stood right in front of you, Piper to your immediate left, and Alexis just behind you. “Are you alright?” Carly asked.

“I’m sorry,” Damien said, cutting into the conversation before you could even think about how to answer Carly’s question. He was standing to your right, though he was a little farther away than your bandmates were. “I wanted to let you know before you saw him. I thought maybe it would be easier that way.”

“It’s okay, Dames. It’s not your fault,” you said. You reached over to squeeze his bicep, hoping to ease his mind a little bit, but the guilt didn’t leave his face.

“How did you know we would be here today?” Carly asked. You gave her a stern look, but she either didn’t see it or just didn’t care.

Damien fidgeted, nervous. You didn’t blame him; Carly was a force of nature when she wanted to be. “Um,” he said, “what do you mean?

“I mean that you had enough foresight to know that you could surprise Y/N and warn her about Shayne. So you knew we would be here.”

“We get a filming schedule at the beginning of the week,” Damien said. You looked at Carly as if to say _there, see? A perfectly good reason. Now back off and let the poor boy breathe_. But then Damien continued: “and Shayne told me about seeing Y/N on Saturday, so --”

He cut himself off, clamping his mouth shut as he seemed to realize what he’d said. Your gaze flew from Carly to Damien. For a moment, you felt thoroughly like a middle schooler; the he-said-she-said was something you thought would get left in sixth grade, but here you were nonetheless. Still, you couldn’t help the way your heart rate accelerated at Damien’s words. If Shayne had mentioned you specifically…

“What?” you asked.

You didn’t want to get your hopes up. You _couldn’t_ get your hopes up. Shayne mentioning you didn’t mean anything. Besides, he had a new girlfriend now, anyway. He’d probably just done it since you and Damien were friends before shit hit the fan.

Damien didn’t get the chance to answer your question before Shayne returned from his conversation with the cameraperson. You were pretty sure he knew that you guys had been talking about him; it was pretty obvious by the way the conversation stopped short as soon as he got within earshot. But if he knew, he didn’t comment on it. He just walked over and took his place next to you.

Carly flashed him a look colder than the south pole and moved to stand on your other side, and then she plastered the brightest smile you’d ever seen on her face. You did the same.

“Alright, everybody ready?” one of the crew people asked. You nodded your assent. “Three, two, and… action!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> links to mentioned songs:  
> * forget you not (work title) -- https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=skLx8dB0GGc  
> * i love you (chapter title) -- https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zE66ixhgnxo  
> * towers (mentioned) -- https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3OdJB9LnD9o  
> * think about us (mentioned) -- https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=za02dOAnU0Y


	4. you knock on my door and tell me you don't wanna fight

With the red dot on the cameras blinking, you knew it was even more important now that you kept up that positive facade. You did your best to think about good things, hoping your smile wouldn’t look too forced.

To your right, Shayne launched into an energetic intro where he explained the rules of the game and introduced you guys as guests. Once he had given his little speech, he turned to you, though his eyes were fixed on the partition over your shoulder. Still, his smile didn’t waver for even a second. “So, are you guys ready to play?”

You nodded enthusiastically and laughed in easy agreement as you were elected to be the first person in the stool. You filled your mouth with water and flashed a thumbs-up, and out came Alexis. She used an inside joke, which was probably cheating, but it made you spit your water out anyway.

The game went on like this for a while, until finally, the only person yet to try to make you laugh was Shayne. You braced yourself as he asked if you were ready, humming an affirmative and doing your best to keep your breathing even.

He came out holding a red telephone, which he set on top of the bongos.

“Watch this,” he said, flashing you a shit-eating grin. For a second, you felt yourself tilting forward into that grin, into those eyes. Your heart jackhammered in your chest. It was the first genuine smile he’d given you all day, and God it was beautiful. “Hi, Dominos? You’re my favorite pizza place.”

You knitted your eyebrows in confusion.

“Watch this though,” he said. He mashed his finger against the phone buttons and lifted it again. “Hi, Pizza Hut? You’re my favorite pizza place.”

And then he nodded at you a little, smiling expectantly. When you didn’t laugh, he held up one finger. “Watch this though.”

With his free hand, he made a sort of waving motion in the direction of the partition, and out came Damien holding an identical red phone. He handed it to you and then went back to where all the props were. Shayne dialed his phone and made a little ringing sound effect for emphasis. You picked up your phone.

“Hi, Y/N?” he asked. You hummed something vaguely resembling “hello” into the receiver, figuring you might as well play along with the bit. In the same voice, with that same shit-eating grin, he said, “you’re my favorite singer.”

You weren’t sure why, maybe it was the strange vocal inflection or the mirth in his eyes as he said it, but sure enough, you sprayed water all over the soundstage. Shayne laughed gleefully as you did so, and the sound of it made you forget to breathe for just a second; you hadn’t heard that laugh in years. It made your chest ache to hear it again. In a sort of daze, you handed him your prop and he took it backstage.

Everyone came back out and you had to choose who made you laugh the hardest. You picked Damien, who had pranced out in an insanely tangled red wig with a stuffed flamingo in one hand, partially because he had made you laugh really hard and partially because you were trying to procrastinate Shayne's turn as much as possible.

Damien’s round passed quickly, and you managed to make him laugh after a few seconds. He chose Piper to go next, so she took her place on the stool. You went backstage with everyone else and started sifting through props to think of a bit.

And then Shayne fully took his shirt off.

You froze halfway through picking up a cowboy hat. You were pretty sure that anyone listening closely enough could’ve heard the gears in your brain grinding to a halt.

You wondered, if you started running now, how far into the ocean you could get before anyone noticed you were gone.

Carly nudged you with her elbow and asked you to help her with a bit, forcing you to turn away from Shayne, which was probably for the best. You took the opportunity to remind yourself that not only did he have a new girlfriend, but that the two of you didn’t work. You never had and you never would.

And before you knew it, Piper’s round was over, and Shayne was up next. You felt a bolt of panic. You knew you could make him laugh, but you weren’t sure how to go about doing it and you were rapidly running out of time to figure it out. Finally, you decided against every bit of logic you had. You decided to just go with an inside joke.

He probably wouldn’t remember it, anyway. It didn’t really matter. If you didn’t make him laugh it wasn’t the end of the world. At the end of that day, you were just here to promote the band. 

At least, this is what you told yourself as you stood behind the partition waiting for your turn. But your hands were trembling anyway.

Your turn came up. Alexis gave you a little high five on your way out. You walked up to Shayne’s right side and leaned in close to him, careful not to touch him. You looked at him through your eyelashes and shifted your weight from foot to foot. “Hey,” you said, voice low and sultry. Shayne’s brows knitted in confusion, and you feared for a moment that he had forgotten. You were probably only half-audible to the mics, but you didn’t care. You were focused single-mindedly on making Shayne laugh. “I was just wondering… do you like tacos?” You were careful to drag out the vowels on the word ‘tacos.’ You heard Damien start giggling behind the partition.

At least _he_ remembered.

And then Shayne’s eyes widened and he surged forward as he tried to keep the water in. Your heart skipped a beat, though you couldn’t quite pin down why.

“Do you like tacos, Shayne? Do you?” you asked, leaning a little closer. You felt more confident now that you knew he remembered the joke. “Tell me how much you like tacos, Shayne.”

That did the trick. He sprayed water everywhere, shrieking with laughter as he did so.

Once the water was cleaned up, everyone else came back out from behind the partition and Shayne chose Alexis to go next.

After Alexis, it was Carly’s turn, and then you were all done. You had even finished a little bit ahead of schedule.

Ian came over once the cameras were cut, smiling brightly. “That was really good, you guys! Thanks so much for coming in today.”

“Thanks for having us!” Alexis said. “It was a ton of fun.”

You nodded in agreement but you were only half-listening. Shayne had somehow ended up right next to you during the outro of the video, and he hadn't made an effort to move away after the cameras stopped rolling. He was close to you, maybe a little closer than necessary, and that fact was all you could focus on.

As you were listening to Ian talk about when the video would be released, you felt Shayne wrap his hand around your forearm, squeezing lightly to get your attention. That one simple touch set your entire right side on fire. You felt like he’d lit off a fireworks display under your skin. You turned to face him, and you couldn’t help noticing that he looked more than a little bit like a kicked puppy.

“Can we talk?” he asked. His voice was soft, a stark contrast to how loud he’d been just minutes before as you were filming the video outro. “Just for a few minutes, please?”

At these questions, a knot of mixed emotion -- fear, anger, a little misguided hope -- gathered in a knot at the base of your spine and squeezed so hard you went lightheaded with it.

You glanced around for Michelle, who was watching you like a hawk. You tilted your head toward Shayne and shrugged. She nodded.

“Okay,” you replied. In all honesty, you weren’t sure why you said yes. You didn’t know what he could possibly have to say to you. Your mind raced with all the worst-case scenarios; that he would rub his new girlfriend in your face, that he would say something mean or insulting, that he would tear down what little you had managed to build yourself up. You wrestled those ideas into submission, though. Shayne had made his mistakes, but he had never been intentionally cruel.

He led you back through the office until he found an empty conference room. You closed the door behind you as you entered.

“What’s up?” you asked. You cringed as it was coming out of your mouth. _Really? What’s up?_

Now that you were alone, some of his forced Funny Man bravado seemed to crumble away. His shoulders slumped and the shine went out of his eyes, and the look he gave you was sad, exhausted.

You felt like the earth was rotating the wrong way, like God had vacuum sealed the room shut, like Saturn was crashing into Jupiter and imploding on impact.

“I, um…” he mumbled. He shoved his hands into his pockets and chuckled nervously. For a moment, you were reminded of the first time he’d asked you out. You’d both been so young then, and he had been all nerves and goofy smiles. You knew even from that first conversation that you were a goner. “I should’ve planned out what I was gonna say, huh? I had all weekend to think about it.”

“You don’t have to say anything,” you said. “This weekend has been… a series of really fucking weird, awful coincidences. You don’t have to, like, apologize. We’ll just chalk it up to being a series of unfortunate events.”

His brow furrowed and his head tilted slightly, which really intensified the whole kicked puppy vibe he had going. Your heart ached, and there was a moment where the muscles in your legs twitched, where your body tried to move itself over to him without your brain’s consent.

You stayed rooted to your place.

“What?” he asked, voice small, barely even audible over the hum of the air conditioning.

You shrugged. “It’s okay, Shayne. I’m not, like, upset that you moved on --”

Bold-faced lie number one.

“Wait,” he said, but you couldn’t hear him over the blood roaring through your ears.

“-- and Courtney seems really nice, so I’m happy that you’re happy --”

Bold-faced lie number two.

“No, just --” he tried to interrupt you again, but you kept going.

“-- and I’m sorry that we had to see each other again in this context, it’s been… really fucking weird. But that doesn’t mean you need to try to make it better, okay? Don’t worry about me.”

Bold-faced lie number three.

Before you could conjure up more ways to end the conversation and escape the room, Shayne took a halting step forward.

“Courtney and I aren’t dating,” he said. Your mouth snapped shut as your brain slammed on the brakes. “We’re just friends. I went to the concert with her because the person she was supposed to go with canceled last minute and she couldn’t find anybody else.”

Oh.

“And I’m sorry we had to see each other again in this context, too, but not because I want to patronize you by telling you that I’m sorry things didn’t work out. I mean I am sorry things didn’t work out, but not in like a My Life Is Better Now, Sorry About That kinda way --” he stopped, faltering, obviously unsure of how to put his thoughts into words.

 _Oh_.

“I mean, if anything, you’re the one who’s better now; --” wait, what? “-- you’re successful, doing what you love, surrounded by your friends, and you’ve clearly moved on. --” wait, _what_? “-- But I just wanted to talk to you because… I don’t really know why, honestly. Because a part of me is still twenty-one and in love with you, I guess.”

So _that_ was what it was like to have every organ in your body simultaneously crushed under a hydraulic press. Interesting.

You couldn’t think of anything poetic to say, so you settled for what seemed the most pressing. “You think I cried on stage singing Towers, a song I wrote about _you_ , because I’m _over you?_ You think _I’m_ the one who’s moved on?”

He shrugged meekly. “I don’t know. That was just one song. You sang a hell of a lot of other songs about how you don’t need a man, about how your life is great. And those aren’t bad things! They were really good songs, but I just assumed --”

“Carly and Alexis wrote all those songs,” you said flatly. He fell silent. “I just sing them.”

There was a moment of silence that seemed to last an eternity, and then there was a knock on the door. “Come in,” Shayne said, his eyes still locked on yours.

A tall brunet man with a thick beard opened the door and stuck his head inside. “Hey,” he said. “There’s a meeting in here in five minutes.” And then he looked between the two of you, and his eyes narrowed. You figured the tension in the room was so palpable, even a stranger could pick up on it. “Everything okay, Shayne?”

“Yeah, it’s fine,” Shayne replied. “We’ll be out of here in a minute. Sorry, Matt.”

“No problem,” the man, Matt, said. He nodded at you in acknowledgment, seeming more than a little confused at your presence. The door closed softly as he left.

“It’s probably for the best,” you said. “Michelle will have a coronary if I’m gone for too long. Places to be, people to see, insanely specific and personal questions to answer.”

He laughed a little bit, nodding, and for a moment the heavy awkwardness that had settled in the room seemed to lift just slightly. “Is your number still the same?” he asked.

“Yeah,” you replied. “Why?”

“I’ll text you my new address. Um, if you can, if you want to, it would probably be good for you to come over tonight to talk a little more. I can order some dinner for us. Only if you want to. I just don’t think… I don’t want to leave things this way.”

A sudden bolt of anger streaked through you, fiery hot. You clenched your jaw. He didn’t want to leave things this way? He had no qualms with leaving things this way when he’d let your entire relationship go down the drain all those years ago. And now he just got to waltz back in and invite you over for dinner and pretend he didn’t cause you the worst heartbreak you’d ever felt? After you had finally gotten yourself close to okay again, he got to come back in and ruin everything, knock you right back down to where you started? That wasn’t fucking fair.

“I don’t know if I’ll be able to,” you said, and it wasn’t a lie. You still had one more interview after leaving the Smosh offices. You’d be completely worn out by the time that was done, especially on top of the exhaustion from the emotional rollercoaster that you’d boarded against your will.

“I’ll send the address anyway,” Shayne said. “Don’t feel pressured to come. If you don’t, I completely get it. You can delete the text and block my number if you want. I swear that after this I’ll never bother you again. But just in case.”

“Okay,” you replied. You really didn’t want to argue with him. You just wanted to track down Michelle and the band and go on your way to the next interview and try to forget about everything that had happened in the last three days. “Fine.”

He nodded and pulled out his phone, and after a moment you felt your own vibrate in your back pocket. You wondered briefly if he had your number memorized, which would have been kind of weird, or if he’d just never deleted your contact information. The notion that the latter might be true made your heart skip a beat.

Once he had repocketed his phone, he looked up at you. There was a moment of lingering silence where it was clear that neither of you knew what to say.

Finally, you lifted your hand in farewell. “It’s been, um… it was good to see you again, Shayne.” Bold-faced lie number four. “Bye.”

“Bye, Y/N,” he said.

Doing your best to ignore the tightness in his voice, you walked past him out of the room and scurried off to meet up with the band. You found them talking to Courtney, Damien, and another girl that you didn’t recognize. She was about Courtney’s height, Chinese, with brown hair and eyes.

“Ready to go, Y/N?” Piper asked.

“I think so,” you said. You turned to Damien and nodded your head over your shoulder. “Got a minute for goodbye?”

He nodded and the two of you retreated away from the rest of the group, not leaving their view but definitely out of earshot. “I’m sorry I couldn’t warn you,” he said.

“It’s okay, Damien, really,” you replied. You reached out to squeeze his arm reassuringly. “This weekend was wild for everybody involved. At least we got to see each other again, right? This has been really nice.”

He grinned and pulled you into another bear hug. “Yeah, it has been,” he said, and you felt it as a rumble in his chest more than you actually heard it. When you parted, he left one hand lingering on your arm and squeezed lightly before it dropped to his side. “Call sometime, okay? I’ve missed you.”

“Will do, Dames.” You glanced over your shoulder and saw Michelle looking at you expectantly. She tapped her wristwatch. You sighed. “I gotta run. I’ll see you around.”

He nodded and said a final goodbye before you turned to make your way back to the band. You noted on your way that Shayne had returned from the conference room. He was talking to Courtney and the brunette now.

You ignored the feeling of his eyes on you as you walked out of the offices and into the LA sunlight beyond.

***

Shayne came back from the conference room a few seconds after you did. He did his best not to watch you and Damien saying goodbye, did his best to push down the surge of jealousy as you hugged him. You were smiling up at him and it seemed easy, carefree. It was like you’d just seen each other yesterday. He wished he could be like that with you, even though he knew why he couldn’t. He was doomed to sad smiles and airless rooms and awkward tension so thick you could cut it with a knife.

If time travel was real, he’d go back to that final night with you and kick his own ass.

Damien’s hand on his shoulder startled him out of his self-loathing. He turned to face his best friend and didn’t bother concealing the hurt on his face; Damien would see right past it even if he tried.

“You okay?” Damien asked. Shayne let out a strangled laugh. Of course he wasn’t okay.

“I feel like somebody tried to wring all the water out of my body,” he replied.

“What’s up with you today?” Courtney asked, and Shayne startled. He’d sort of forgotten she was there.

Shayne sighed. He figured he might as well tell her; she’d probably find out at some point anyway. That or she’d piece it together herself.

“Y/N and I used to be a couple, way back when,” he said. Courtney’s eyes went almost comically wide. “And it… didn’t end very well. Seeing each other again has been really fucking weird for both of us.”

“That’s why she cried when she sang Towers,” Courtney said, more to herself than to anyone in the room. She looked at Damien. “Is that why you know her? ‘Cause of her and Shayne?”

Damien shook his head. “Me and her were friends first. I introduced them.”

Courtney nodded slowly, obviously trying to process this new information. “Oh,” she said. Shayne couldn’t tell where her brain was (he rarely could). If he had to guess, he’d say she was probably combing over her every memory of the past weekend and looking for any indications of the history between you and Shayne. Sure enough, she continued after a moment: “that’s why she looked so constipated when we were at the photo op, and why you ‘needed some air’ halfway through the concert, and why you got all weird when I put my arm around your shoulders before, and why you disappeared after --” she stopped, her brows furrowing for a moment and then raising suddenly. She smirked. “Where’d you go after you finished filming, Shayne? You both came back pretty much at the same time.”

“Courtney --” Shayne said, voice scolding, trying to get her to stop whatever hellish train of thought she was getting onto.

“You’re still in love with her, huh?” Olivia said. She’d been silent for most of the conversation, but she was looking at him like she could see into his soul. Shayne froze. Was he that fucking obvious?

“Still in love with who?” Ian’s voice to his left startled him.

Courtney and Olivia stopped talking now, which Shayne was grateful for. They at least had the decency to let Shayne tell Ian on his own. Everyone looked from Ian to Shayne and back.

“Uh --” Shayne said. “I, um…”

“Is this about whatever weird shit is between you and the girl from the band?” Ian asked. Shayne threw his hands in the air, frustrated. Did the whole world know? Was he that easy to read?

“How did you…?”

“I’ve known you for almost five years, Shayne,” Ian replied. “You looked like you wanted to die during that entire shoot. There were a couple of moments it was so bad that I almost asked Courtney to come in and take your place. But the crew people said it didn’t come through on camera, so I just chalked it up to the fact that I know you so well. You also left with her right after we were done filming. Putting two and two together here doesn’t exactly take a rocket scientist.”

Shayne sighed and ran a frustrated hand through his hair, which made it look even more insane than it usually did. “We dated years ago. The way it ended was my fault. I shouldn’t have broken up with her. I shouldn’t have let her go. She was… she _is_ one of the most amazing women I’ve ever met. This weekend has rubbed everything I did wrong right into my face.”

“Is that it, then?” Courtney asked. “She walks out of here and you let her? After the universe, fate, whatever you wanna call it put in all the effort to bring you together again… you let her go? You repeat your biggest mistake?”

Shayne had to force down an anguished sound at that. He knew Courtney was trying to get him to chase after you, but in reality, she was probably right. You wouldn’t want to come to his apartment to talk things out. You wouldn’t want to see him after everything. You wouldn’t forgive him. And he didn’t deserve your forgiveness, anyway. You were absolutely right to ignore the invitation.

“I asked if she would come over,” he said. He was trying to be hopeful. But he’d seen the way your eyes narrowed when he invited you to his place. Your jaw had dropped and then tightened in that way it did when you were torn between anger and disbelief. “If she does, maybe we can talk things out. But it’s been years. I don’t know if she’ll… I don’t know, you guys.”

He was breathing, that much he knew, but he was sort of starting to wonder if someone had poked a hole in his trachea because he was pretty sure the air wasn’t making it to his lungs. He looked around at his friends, all staring at him like he should know the answer, like he should be able to just whip a magical solution out of his ass and call it a day, a happy ending with a neat little bow.

“I’m gonna take a walk,” he said, a little louder than necessary, because the room was suddenly way too fucking small. Before anyone could object, he walked quickly away from the group and down the hall until he found an empty soundstage. He slumped against the wall and slid down onto the ground. The events of the last three days were piling onto his shoulders like bricks. Memories of you were branded onto his brain and he couldn’t stop replaying them, a highlight reel of what he’d had and what he’d lost. You, years ago, laughing and looking at him like he was the only person in the room. You, years ago, standing in the living room, looking at him like he’d just driven a knife through your heart.

In an instant, he felt like Atlas, holding the weight of his own mistakes. Holding memories both good and bad; your first date, your first kiss, your first fight. You had said ‘I love you’ first because he wasn't brave enough, and you’d looked terrified as you did it, like you were afraid he’d laugh at you and push you away. You’d always looked half-scared, he realized; scared of rejection and pain and heartbreak. And he’d gone and thrown those fears right back in your face.

* * *

_It took about three seconds for Shayne to collapse in on himself. He barely made it to the couch before his knees gave out on him. He stared up at the ceiling for a long while, desperately trying to process whatever the hell had just happened._

_You were gone, and the apartment felt empty without you. It was a new type of loneliness, one he’d never experienced before. He felt a little like his chest was caving in and little like he was astral projecting, like he wasn’t quite contained within the walls of his body. He reached for his phone and sent you a barely-coherent text, apologizing and asking you to come home. And then he texted Damien and asked if he was home. He needed someone’s company._

_He stared up at his ceiling while he awaited a response, considering all the things that had led him to this newest, most monumental fuck-up. Suddenly, the time he’d forgotten your birthday made him look like Boyfriend of the Year._

_And then he reached into his pocket and he produced the little blue box he’d gotten just yesterday, and he opened it and looked at the ring inside. Not too flashy -- he didn’t have the money for any big diamonds, and you’d once joked that you didn’t want your engagement ring to weigh five tons. He smiled at the memory and traced his finger over the small diamond at the center of the ring._

_God, what the_ fuck _had he just done?_

* * *

Shayne’s head thumped against the wall behind him, and he cried.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> links to mentioned songs:  
> * forget you not (work title) -- https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=skLx8dB0GGc  
> * towers (chapter title, mentioned) -- https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3OdJB9LnD9o


	5. how come they don't make 'em like you, babe?

No one pressed you for details on your conversation with Shayne, which you were glad for. You didn’t even know what to think about it yourself, much less how to explain it to other people, even to your best friends. You went through the last event of the day in a sort of trance, barely speaking throughout the whole interview. If anyone asked you about it, you figured you could just blame it on being exhausted after a long day.

As soon as you were free, you went straight back to your hotel room and locked yourself in the bathroom for an hour so that you could shower and decompress. Once you had scrubbed all your makeup off and changed into more comfortable clothes, you came out of the bathroom and found your hotel room empty. There was a note from Carly that read the following:

_Hey Buttercup,_

_I figured you’d want some time and space so I went over to Alexis and Piper’s room. If you want to talk, or just to have some company, feel free to come join us. We were thinking about going out for dinner so text me if you want something._

_I love you. You’re the baddest bitch I ever met._

_\-- C_

You smiled at her thoughtfulness and went to crawl into bed. You scrolled through Twitter for a while but found your eyelids growing heavier as the sun began to disappear behind the horizon. It wasn’t that late, only about eight o’clock, but between getting up early and having such an exhausting day, you soon found yourself dragged off into sleep.

You woke up around eleven, groggy and disoriented. When you sat up, you saw Carly entering your darkened room. “Hey,” you said, voice rough with sleep and disuse. “How was dinner?”

“It was good,” she said. “You feeling okay?”

You sighed. “I don’t know,” you said. You dug around in the sheets for your phone and eventually found it. It was almost dead so you went to plug it in. There were no pressing notifications; the only things of note were a text from one of your friends back home and a text from Carly, sent shortly after you’d fallen asleep, which was just her double-checking that you didn’t want anything for dinner. “I kind of feel like somebody punched through my ribcage and started squeezing my heart.”

“I think that’s called a heart attack,” Carly said, smiling. You laughed despite yourself. “In all seriousness, I don’t blame you. This weekend has been utterly insane. I’m gonna shower and get some sleep, though, okay? We need to be up early tomorrow so we can pack before we fly home.”

You nodded. She rooted around in her suitcase for a change of clothes and then disappeared into the bathroom. You considered her words. You weren’t sure if you wanted to go home the next day. You knew that if you left without seeing Shayne, your choice would be made; if you didn’t go see him tonight, you’d probably never see him again.

You made a frustrated sound in the back of your throat. You reached for your phone, found the text from him, and put the address into your GPS. It was only twenty minutes from your hotel.

After thirty or so minutes, the water in the bathroom shut off. You laid on your back and stared up at the ceiling, debating.

The lovesick teenager in you really wanted to go to him, at least so you could see him one last time before you really said goodbye. Maybe if you gave him another chance…

No. That was stupid. You had to remind yourself what happened last time; all the tears, the heartache, the pain. The only reason you got through it was Carly, and then eventually the band.

You wrote music to help yourself cope, and then you met Alexis and Piper, and everything took off from there. If you let yourself give in to the insane idea that he could magically be better this time, you were signing your own death warrant. You knew how things ended with Shayne.

You rolled onto your side so that you were facing away from Carly’s bed and looking at the window. You closed your eyes and tried to sleep, but you couldn’t. Distantly, you could hear Carly moving around the room behind you as she got ready to go to bed. You heard her covers rustling as she laid down.

You couldn’t force your brain to be quiet, and after a while, you ended up just staring straight at the radiator on the far wall of the room. Slivers of moonlight were shining through the cracks in the blinds.

Something thumped against the back of your head. You let out a yelp, surprised, and bolted upright. When you turned around, Carly was still laying down and facing away from you, but one of her pillows was on the ground between the two beds. You figured she had thrown it at you. “What was that for?” you demanded.

“You’re being too loud,” she replied. “I can’t sleep.”

“I’m not saying anything!”

She rolled over and looked at you, accusatory. “I can hear you thinking.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, I’ll try to quiet my thoughts down,” you said, sarcastic. You scrubbed your hands over your face, frustration causing your shoulders to draw tight and tense.

“Please do,” she replied, fake-annoyed. Her voice softened, though, as she continued: “what happened today, buttercup?”

“What do you mean?” you asked. You knew what she was talking about, but you didn’t want to face it.

She rolled her eyes. “I mean you and Shayne disappeared after the Smosh video, and you said all of about three words to anybody for the rest of the day. The girls and I were all talking about it over dinner. If he did something, we can and will make his death look like an accident.”

Again, a laugh bubbled out of you despite yourself. Carly always knew how to cheer you up. But the laugh faded quickly, and the smile not long after it. You sighed. “He didn’t do anything,” you said. “I mean, he just… he said that him and Courtney aren’t dating, and then he said that a part of him is still in love with me, and he said he doesn’t want to ‘leave things like this,’ whatever that means, so he texted me his new address and said I could come over if I wanted to. He said that he wants to talk more, but that if I don’t show up tonight then he’ll never bother me again. The most batshit crazy thing he said was that he thought _I_ was over _him_. And it’s just stupid because he says he doesn’t want to leave things like this but he’s the one who ended it in the first place!”

By the end of your rant, your voice had raised in pitch and volume. You ran a hand through your hair, distressed. A tear dripped down the bridge of your nose and you wiped at it frustratedly, but with that tear, the floodgates opened. Your throat tightened and you couldn’t hold back a sob. You felt your heart, which had been so precariously stitched back together, shattering all over again.

“Oh, honey,” Carly murmured. She slid out of her bed and moved over to yours so that she could wrap you in a hug. You clutched at her shirt and let yourself be babied for a few minutes, crying weakly against her.

A part of you was disgusted with yourself. You had worked so hard to get over him, and now here you were, broken again after just one weekend. You thought that you’d given all the tears you had to give for him.

Once you had managed to calm down, Carly moved so that she was sitting next to you rather than on her knees in front of you. She kept one arm wrapped around your shoulders. “So now you don’t know if you should go or not?”

You nodded. “I know that if I don’t, if I go to the airport tomorrow and fly home… he’ll keep his promise. That was the one thing he was always good at. And I know that it’s for the best if I just let it die, but something in me doesn’t want this to be the last time we ever talk to each other. Seeing him again, I… I was so sure that I was over him. But there’s a reason I haven’t found anybody else, and the reason is that every date I go on, every guy I’m with… I compare them to him. And no one ever seems quite as good. And now he’s twenty minutes away and I can’t sleep because I just _know_ I need to --”

You stopped short. You had finally found your answer.

“Go, Y/N,” Carly whispered.

It didn’t take more than that. You threw off your covers, grabbed your phone and wallet, pulled on the first pair of shoes you saw, and rushed down to the lobby to catch the first taxi you could find.

***

Shayne was beginning to give up hope, which was a statement, considering he hadn’t had much of that to begin with.

He ordered takeout from your favorite Chinese place. At least it _had_ been your favorite before everything fell apart. He hoped your order was still the same. Once he had the food, he put it in the oven to keep it warm and began straightening up his apartment. He took out the trash, washed the dishes, folded and refolded the throw blanket on the couch, and halfheartedly played Animal Crossing in an effort to take his mind off of the passing minutes.

Eight o’clock came and went, and nine o’clock not long after it.

At 9:30, Shayne went to move the food from the oven to the fridge. He considered eating his but decided against it. If you showed up, he didn’t want you to have to eat alone. Besides, his nerves had completely sapped him of any appetite.

At ten o’clock, he gave up on Animal Crossing and just put on an old comedy special instead. He scrolled through Twitter but found that he wasn’t absorbing any of the words on the screen, so he put his phone down and just stared at his television without really hearing any of the jokes.

A couple of times, a car door closed outside of his apartment and he perked up, hoping against hope. But the knock on his door never came, so he sank back down into the couch and turned back to the TV, kicking himself for being so stupid. Of course you weren’t going to come.

Finally, at 11:30, he sighed and went to get ready for bed. He was halfway to the bathroom when there was a knock on the door. He froze.

“Hey, Shayne, um…” he felt like he could cry tears of joy at the sound of the voice from outside, slightly distorted through the wood of the door but definitely yours. Shayne felt like his bones were melting. “It’s Y/N, I, uh… could you let me in, please?”

He nearly broke his leg running over to the door. He cleared his throat, straightened his shirt, and opened the door. You were standing there in sweatpants and a ratty old t-shirt, your eyes red-rimmed and puffy. “Hey,” you said.

“Hi,” he said. “Um, come in, please.”

He stepped back to let you in, which you did. There was a moment of agonizing silence where you stood on his welcome mat, looking around.

“It’s nice,” you said.

“Thanks,” he said, closing the door behind you. “Um, sit down, please. Make yourself comfortable. I ordered Chinese for you if -- if you’re hungry. Or if you want water or something, I can get you some of that, too.”

“Actually, I am really hungry. I didn’t eat dinner,” you said. He felt his chest twist with worry, but he didn’t comment on it. He didn’t have the right to be worried about you. You were an adult, and you could take care of yourself.

“Okay,” he said. “I’ll go heat it up.”

You mumbled an “okay” and sat down on the couch while he went into the kitchen to heat up your food. He moved through his apartment in sort of a daze, only half-aware of what he was doing.

* * *

_You looked like an angel sitting on the couch when he got home. Your nose was buried in the book you’d started last week, and it must’ve been good because you seemed to be well over halfway through it. You looked up when you heard the door close and flashed him that smile that made him feel like he was going to implode with the force of his love for you. Suddenly, his palms were sweating and his heart was thundering and he couldn’t breathe._

_He felt like he was in a coal mine and the canary had just dropped dead._

_“Hey, babe,” you said. “How was your day?”_

_He barely heard the question. He walked over to the counter and braced himself against it, took a deep, shuddering breath. The ring in his back pocket suddenly weighed a metric ton. Too much; too much feeling, too much pressure. He was pretty sure this was what dying felt like._

_Jesus, what was wrong with him? He had a woman behind him that was perfect in every aspect, and that fact was suddenly cloying, overwhelming. It was cold in the apartment but he shrugged his jacket off anyway. He felt shaky, unsteady._

_He couldn’t do it anymore. He didn’t know why, but he felt panic welling up inside him and he knew he needed out. And then, before he could think it through, he dumped kerosene over his own life and set it ablaze with just four, stupid words._

_“We need to talk.”_

* * *

The microwave beeped. Shayne startled back into the present. He blinked a few times, trying to clear his head of thoughts of that night. That didn’t matter right now. What mattered was that you were sitting in the living room waiting for him, and if you were waiting for him that meant you were willing to talk. That meant he had a chance.

He returned to the living room with the food and held yours out to you, and he couldn’t help but notice the way your eyes lit up when you saw where it was from.

“No way! I haven’t had this in so long!” you said, looking between Shayne and the takeout container like he’d performed some kind of miracle.

For a split second, it was as if the last few years hadn’t happened. You tucked into your food and he did the same with his, and there were a couple of minutes where neither of you said anything. Every so often he’d sneak a glance at you, trying to commit to memory exactly what you looked like at that moment. It was edging ever-closer to midnight, and the moonlight filtering in through his blinds had haloed you in silver light. You looked ethereal and lovely and he could feel himself falling back in love with you with each passing second.

Finally, when you were done eating, you set the takeout container down on the coffee table and turned to him. He did the same. “That was really good,” you said. “Thank you.”

“No problem,” he said. “I, um… I thought you wouldn’t come.”

“In all honesty, neither did I.”

He wanted so desperately to reach for you. His fingers twitched as he fought the instinct to take your hand. He picked at a stray thread on his sweatpants in an effort to occupy his hands. “What made you change your mind?” he asked.

You sighed. “I knew that if I didn’t come tonight I would never see you again, and that was… I don’t want that.”

He hummed low in his throat, desperately trying to quell the hope welling up within him. “I don’t want that either,” he said. He couldn’t bring himself to look you in the eye. He just kept staring at the stray thread on his pants, feeling a little bit like his fingers weren’t his own. “I, um… I said this to Damien earlier, but I guess it’s probably more important that I say it to you. Letting you go was the stupidest thing I’ve ever done, Y/N, and if I could go back and change that night I would in an instant.”

There was a long, agonizing moment where you didn’t say anything. He risked a glance up at your face; the silence was unbearable and he needed to get an idea of what you were thinking. Your expression was stony and unreadable. “Please say something,” he whispered. His voice was strained around the tears he was holding back.

“I loved you,” you said. Your face was still utterly unreadable. “I loved you harder and more honestly than I’ve ever loved _anybody_ . And you… you decided that you didn’t want that. That you didn't want _me_. And Shayne, I wish we lived in a fairytale where everything could just be okay again, where I could just love you again without the past getting in the way, because if we did --” you stopped and took a deep breath. “After you, music became my everything. I worked myself to the fucking bone to get myself where I am, to get myself back to good. And now… now it doesn’t even matter because what the hell is the point of being good if I’m not good with you?”

“I’m sorry,” he said, because he didn’t know what else to say. “I was so utterly idiotic. I was scared and in too deep and I didn’t know what I wanted. I sure as hell didn’t know what I had. But then you were gone and for a while, it was like what the fuck is the point? What am I doing if I don’t get to come home every night and see you? And I thought about calling so many times but I just… I just couldn’t. I was always too fucking scared, and by the time I worked up the courage, I thought it was too late. I thought you would’ve found somebody else.”

At that, you laughed. “I tried,” you said. “I went on so many dates, my friends set me up with so many guys. But none of them were you, and all I’ve ever wanted is _you_ , so how the hell were they supposed to compare? So finally I just stopped going on dates. I told Carly… I told myself, really, that it was because I was so busy with work. That I’d find someone new eventually. And before I knew it, it had been years and I was still alone because there’s _nobody_ like you.”

Now, Shayne did reach for you. He held his hand out, palm up, a clear invitation. You took it without hesitation, and that simple touch was enough to send him spiraling out of his body. “I still love you,” he said. You squeezed his hand.

“I know,” you replied. “I… I don’t think I can say that right now. I think I feel the same way, but the word, saying it out loud… it’s too much. But I have to leave tomorrow and I’d really like to have tonight to hold on to.”

He knew it was a terrible idea. He knew he shouldn’t do it. He’d already let his hopes spiral entirely out of control. He felt like he had finally reached the light at the end of a five-year-long tunnel, and he’d spent so long in the dark that he wasn’t entirely sure what to do with the light. You were still nervous, flighty, like a stray animal; one wrong move and you’d be running for the hills.

But there you were, silhouetted by moonlight and looking at him like you needed him to breathe and Jesus, he was only a man. He wasn’t equipped to deal with the fire spreading slowly from his fingertips to his heart and out into his bloodstream.

“Okay,” he said, and for a moment, nothing happened. The room was still, frozen in time.

And then you both surged forward, desperate, like you needed each other to survive. He maneuvered you up and toward the bedroom, and the door shutting behind you sounded a little like the last nail in the most beautiful coffin ever built.

***

The sound of Shayne’s alarm had never been so wonderful.

He sighed as he rolled over, reaching blindly for you. But where you should’ve been he found only sheets, and they had long gone cold in your absence. Shayne sat bolt upright and looked around the room. Your clothes were gone. _You_ were gone.

He almost crashed onto the floor trying to get himself untangled from his sheets. He pulled on the nearest article of clothing he could find and burst from his bedroom into the living room, heart pounding. You were nowhere to be seen. “No,” he mumbled, over and over until the word lost meaning, eyes scanning his apartment desperately for some sign of you. For a few terrifying seconds, he wondered if the night before had been some kind of vivid fever dream. But that wasn’t possible; the feeling of your skin under his fingertips was far too real, far too tangible. It _had_ to be real.

And yet, the only proof that you’d been there at all was an empty takeout container and a note saying that you would call soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is technically the final chapter of this but i've been toying around with the idea of writing a sequel, so there may or may not be more to come
> 
> links to mentioned songs:  
> * forget you not (work/chapter title) -- https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=skLx8dB0GGc


	6. 'cause we've come, we've come so far, oh, baby

You called exactly one week later.

It was around six o’clock (nine o’clock for you, Shayne noted). He had just gotten home from work and was contemplating what to have for dinner when his phone started buzzing. He pulled it out of his pocket disinterestedly, figuring it was probably Damien or his mom. When he saw your name on his phone screen, however, his heart nearly stopped beating.

He took a deep breath and answered the call.

“Hey,” he said. He sounded mildly out of breath and hoped desperately that you wouldn’t notice. “What’s up?”

“I said I’d call,” you said. Your voice was shaky, your tone unsure. You were putting emphasis on all the wrong syllables. Shayne could picture you in his head; you on your couch in your nice New York apartment, dressed in something comfortable, a vision of natural beauty.

Shayne didn’t reply, just silently willed you to continue. He sat down on the couch.

“Um… it was fun. The sex, I mean.” There was a long pause. Shayne held his breath. “I would… next time one of us is in town, I think it would be good to hang out again. Maybe we can get to know each other again.” Another long pause. “Get to know each other like hanging out and talking, I mean, not like… not like wink-wink _getting to know each other_ , not that I don’t want to have sex with you again, I just…” You stopped again, and he could practically see the grimace on your face. “Jesus, okay. I’m gonna stop talking now.”

Shayne grinned so wide he thought his face might get stuck that way.

“Okay,” he said. “I’d like that.”

Another pause, one which could have lasted three seconds or three years.

“I’m really glad we got to see each other again,” he said. He was careful to keep his tone light, decidedly avoiding any words that might send the _I still love you_ vibe. He didn’t want to push the boat out on another chance with you too soon, but absence absolutely makes the heart grow fonder. There was a part of him that already had the color scheme for your wedding planned, a part of him that felt sure you’d give him a second chance. After all, you’d spent the night together, and now you were calling him back. That had to mean something, right?

But he knew, rationally, that you were still smarting from what had happened all those years ago, and he knew that you had every right to be. He figured you would want to take things slow.

And then, before his brain could really think about it, his mouth said: “I want… I really want to try again, if you… if you want to. I think we could do things right this time.”

So much for taking things slow.

There was another long silence. Shayne was almost certain his heart was going to pound out of his chest.

“I want to try again, too,” you said. Shayne felt his shoulder sag in relief. “I’ve missed you a lot. But, um, it’s late here and I worked all day. I should get ready for bed. I’ll have Michelle look at my schedule tomorrow and we can figure out a good time for me to fly back out there, okay?”

“Okay,” he said. “Goodnight, Y/N.”

“Goodnight, Shayne.”

The line went dead. Shayne sat back on his couch and stared up at his ceiling in wonder. A second chance. He couldn’t fucking believe it.

All he had to do now was get it right this time.

***

A month passed, and then two, and then six. You and Shayne flew from New York to LA and back more times than you could count. You squeezed texting, calling, and facetiming into every spare second. Shayne made himself endlessly available to you, and you did the same for him. You were constantly in trouble with Michelle for getting distracted during interviews and meetings and recording sessions. Rumors circulated that there was a man in your life, which, for a while, you didn’t confirm or deny.

You knew that you’d have to go public eventually, something you discussed with Shayne early on in your second attempt. You were both far more in the public eye now than you’d been five years ago, which meant people would put pieces together sooner than you wanted them to. Finally, after two months, the two of you decided it was time to call it official. Instagram posts went up, fans lost their minds, the comments of your Smosh video were dominated almost exclusively with references to you and Shayne.

At the four-month mark, you discussed moving out to LA permanently. You’d still be spending a lot of time apart while the band toured, but you would at least be able to go home to him full-time in between the months on the road.

Carly asked if it felt a little soon, and you told her it didn’t. If your first attempt at a relationship with Shayne had been more-or-less a strong one (save for the end), this attempt was iron-clad. Shayne had matured more than you ever could’ve hoped for. The years apart made him wiser, more willing to confront his feelings and his issues. And in your five years of being single, you had found something infinitely more valuable than a shiny new relationship: self-worth. You knew what you deserved, and a happy, loving relationship was one of those things. You no longer lived in fear of Shayne running off at the first sign of someone better than you. You were far more willing to fight for yourself and for your relationship. 

You spent a couple of months deliberating whether you’d move to LA. The time it took you to think was in part caused by some hesitation, but more than anything caused by the fact that the band was recording a new album. You couldn’t think about much of anything besides choruses and hooks and beats.

Your hang-ups about the move were more practical than anything; it wasn’t that you didn’t want to move, it was that cross-country moves were infamously stressful and problem-filled. Not to mention, the rest of the band still lived in New York, which might cause professional complications (and would most certainly cause personal heartache; you weren’t necessarily ecstatic about living almost 3,000 miles from your best friends).

You finally made the decision during a late-night, insomnia-induced facetime call. You called Shayne at four in the morning one night after tossing and turning for hours. He picked up on the third ring, and you could tell immediately that he had been asleep; his surroundings were completely blacked out, his face only visible from the light of his phone screen. He was squinting at the screen, face scrunched up in a way that made your heart swell with the urge to kiss him, as his eyes adjusted to the brightness. And when he spoke, his voice was gruff with disuse.

“Hey,” he said. He didn’t seem the slightest bit upset at being woken up, but there was definite concern on his face. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah,” you replied, “I’m sorry to wake you. I can’t sleep. I wanted to see you.”

 _If you lived in LA_ , whispered the ever-present voice in the back of your mind, _you wouldn’t have to call him to see him. If you lived in LA, you’d be fast asleep in his arms right now._

Shayne hummed sympathetically and you heard the blankets rustling as he rolled over on his back. The angle was about as unflattering as it could have possibly been, but you didn’t care. In fact, you loved him all the more for it.

“I’m sorry, baby,” he said. His words were just slightly slurred, like his tongue was still heavy from sleep. “What’s keeping you awake?”

You sighed and scrubbed a hand over your eyes. “I don’t really know,” you replied. “A lot of things, I guess. It’s been a couple of weeks since we saw each other last, so I’ve been trying to find a good time to fly out there, but I’m completely booked for the next few months. The new album has been kicking our asses and we’re nowhere near where we need to be if we’re gonna make the deadline, so we’ve been working all hours, which means everyone’s sleep schedules are completely fucked. I’m pretty sure Alexis and Piper are still at the studio right now.”

He hummed low in his throat again, nodding slowly. There was a moment where he seemed to be debating which part of your speech to address first. “Well, don’t worry too much about flying out. You know I love seeing you in person, but I don’t want making time for me to be too stressful for you. I’m perfectly content with long-distance if that’s what you need to do.”

You smiled despite yourself. Shayne had established this rule early-on; you never needed to worry about going to see him if going to see him would jeopardize your work or your personal wellbeing. If you couldn’t handle the stress of a flight across the country, he would either come to you or you’d just make texting and calling work until one of you could get on a plane.

But in this instance (and in every other instance), you didn’t want to see him in person just so that he would be satisfied. You wanted to see him in person because seeing him in person was infinitely better than seeing him through the phone. You wanted to be there when he got home from work, to kiss him goodnight and good morning, to fall asleep next to him.

“I’m gonna move out there,” you said, surprising even yourself with the conviction in your tone.

“What?” he asked. The camera shook for a moment and you imagined he was sitting up in bed. “Seriously?”

You nodded. “Seriously. I’ll talk to everyone tomorrow and then I’ll call you and we can figure out the logistics. I need to be with you, Shayne. I think now’s as good a time as there’ll ever be.”

***

It took a month of you living together for Shayne to track down the old ring. He’d kept it all these years, though he could never quite put a finger on why. At least, until now.

As he rifled through his closet searching for the little blue box, he knew exactly why he’d kept it. For five years, he’d hoped against hope that you would come back to him. He’d hoped that despite it all, you could still be soulmates, just like he’d known you were before he went and fucked it up.

He found the box. It was a little dusty, but the ring inside was preserved perfectly. He moved it from the bottom of his closet to the back corner of his sock drawer, which felt like a more appropriate hiding place for a ring that was no longer going unused (hopefully).

You were currently back in New York to finish recording the new album, and then you would begin tour rehearsals in LA. The reasons for that were threefold; first, there was a choreographer based in LA that you desperately wanted to work with; second, the tour would kick off in LA, so it made sense to do the rehearsals in the place you would start; and third, you had convinced the rest of the band to do it in LA so that you could be close to Shayne. They, being your best friends and considering the other two reasons, had agreed happily. The proximity was good for Shayne, not only because it meant he got to spend time with you, but because it meant he could consult Carly. He figured that if anyone would know if you were ready to marry him, it would be her.

A week or so into tour rehearsals, the two of you hosted a dinner party at your apartment. You invited the Smosh Squad, the band, and a few other mutual friends. It was a challenge fitting everyone into the small space, but you made it work.

Shayne managed to find Carly after dinner was over and everyone had broken up to mingle. You were occupied with Olivia, Courtney, and Piper, and Carly was only talking to Damien, so Shayne figured it was his golden opportunity.

He sidled up to Carly and Damien and shot Damien a _Hey man, you know what I’m about to do look_ (Damien was well aware of his plans, of course; Shayne had texted him the very second marriage popped into his head). Damien nodded.

“Hey, Carly,” Shayne said. She gave him a barely-civil look and took a sip of her drink. She still didn’t entirely trust him, which Shayne couldn’t blame her for; the way he understood it, she had been the one to pick up the pieces of the mess he made. He knew she was only playing nice with him for your sake. “Can I talk to you in private?”

“Sure,” she replied. She narrowed her eyes at him, obviously suspicious, even as she gestured for him to begin walking. “Lead the way.”

Shayne beckoned her into the bedroom, which was the only place not occupied by dinner guests, and rifled around in his sock drawer until he found the ring. He turned and presented it to Carly.

She choked on her drink.

“You’re going to propose?” she asked, volume just lower than a shout, obviously incredulous. Shayne shushed her frantically and glanced over to the open archway into the living room, thoroughly regretting not closing the door and praying to God that no one had heard. “Sorry, I just… Jesus, okay.” And then, in a much more reasonable tone of voice: “You’re going to propose?”

“I’m thinking about proposing,” Shayne corrected her. He set the ring back in his sock drawer. “I haven’t made my mind up yet. I don’t want to ask and freak her out. I figured you might know her thoughts on it.”

Carly narrowed her eyes at him, appraising. Shayne got the disturbing feeling that she could see straight into his soul; it was like she was looking through him, not at him. He shifted uncomfortably.

“Y/N is my best friend,” Carly said after a few seconds. Shayne nodded his understanding but didn’t dare speak. “After you destroyed her -- and you _did_ destroy her, and it _was_ your fault, even as much as she’s tried time and time again to convince me otherwise -- I was there for her. I have seen her at her lowest, most desperate points, and I have seen her at her most joyful. She is my best friend. She is my _sister._

“All this to say, Shayne, that if you hurt her again, I can and will -- in fact, I am _obligated to_ \-- make your death look like an accident.”

Shayne nodded again, struck speechless. He was reminded of a conversation he’d had with you some time ago: he’d mentioned that he thought Carly didn’t like him, and you had conceded that she didn’t. _But_ , you’d said, _don’t worry too much. She’s all bark and no bite, and she just cares. She’ll come around to you._

As she stood in front of him now, fire in her eyes, tension in her shoulders, chin held high, Shayne was absolutely convinced that this woman was 100% bite. She quirked an eyebrow, waiting for him to speak. He was somehow more intimidated by Carly than he had been by your family.

“I love her, too,” he said. “That’s one thing we have in common. I know that I hurt her, and not a day goes by that I don’t regret it. I should’ve done things so much differently five years ago, I know that, and I’m sorry I didn’t. But by some miracle, she’s given me a second chance, and I’m not gonna fuck it up this time. I want to marry her with everything I have, Carly. I need to know that she’ll say yes.”

There was another silent moment as Carly appraised him. She glanced over at the sock drawer, where the ring was safely tucked away, and then back to him. “Okay,” she said. Shayne’s shoulders sagged in relief. “Here’s what we’re gonna do.”

***

You rehearsed for two months before the first concert of the new tour. In the week leading up to it, you were riddled with nerves; you were exhausted from long rehearsals and yet you couldn’t sleep, you had to force yourself to eat, you had dreams of getting on stage and forgetting all your choreography, or, worse, the lyrics to your own songs.

Shayne did his best to help you. He stayed up with you when you were having insomnia, even if his work suffered for it the following day, and he brought you food sometimes when rehearsals ran past your allotted lunch or dinner break. He was a godsend.

Finally, the big day arrived; it was the opening night of your tour. The new album had been out for a couple of weeks and it was doing well so far. The concert hall was slightly bigger than the one you’d performed at last time you were in LA. But sitting in your dressing room with shaking hands, about to attend the pre-show meet and greet, the nervous churning in your gut felt eerily similar to the way it felt eight months prior.

And, like eight months prior, Carly came to collect you. You walked with her down the hallway and to the meet and greet room, which had an almost identical setup; white backdrop and four stools on one side, camera equipment and a friendly man named Rob on the other.

You and the rest of the band gave Michelle the all-clear to let guests in, and the meet and greet began.

It was around the halfway mark when the door opened and you heard familiar voices walking in. Your face split into a wide grin as Noah, Keith, Olivia, Courtney, Damien, Ian, and Shayne rounded the backdrop. All of you had grown pretty close over the last few months, between you living with Shayne and occasionally visiting him at work. You had actually been in talks with Ian to appear on a SmoshCast once the tour was over.

Hugs were exchanged between the band and all your friends. You greeted Shayne with a kiss on the cheek, and Courtney with the complicated secret handshake you two had been working on.

The entire massive group took a photo together, and then your adoring fans left to find their seats. Your heart felt lighter for having seen them, and knowing that they would be in the audience worked wonders to calm your nerves. It was the exact opposite effect of your last meet and greet experience with Shayne.

The meet and greet ended, mic check passed, and the beginning of the concert approached. You took a deep breath. You did your pre-show ritual. You got into places. The concert began.

The first half of the show went off without a hitch. The fans were obviously loving it, and you (miraculously) remembered everything you were supposed to do. You were constantly glancing back at Shayne and your friends, both for comfort and to make sure they were enjoying themselves. Occasionally, you’d make eye contact with one of them and they’d flash you enthusiastic thumbs-ups. Every time you looked at Shayne, without fail, he was looking back at you, which made your heart beat just that much faster.

As you were introducing Your Love, though, you glanced over and saw that Shayne was no longer sitting with the group. You frowned but figured he had gone to the bathroom. Damien flashed you a grin and a thumbs-up from his seat next to Shayne’s.

The song began and you didn’t have time to think about anything else as you started to sing: “ _Luxurious lovin’ like Egyptian cotton, if I ain’t got nothing, least I got you_.”

This particular song hadn’t been written with Shayne in mind, but it was hard to think of anything else as you sang the lovey-dovey lyrics. Every time you glanced over at his seat, though, he was still gone. It wasn’t that big of a deal, you knew, but you were somewhat saddened by the fact that you couldn’t serenade him (or at least make eye contact with him) while you sang.

Alexis had the second verse. You were swaying to the beat and moving across the stage to your mark when you felt a tap on your shoulder. You almost ignored it and kept moving; you were in show mode, so you chalked it up at first to a backup dancer brushing against you or something of the sort. But then you took in your surroundings and stopped in your tracks.

Alexis was still singing, but she and the rest of the band had turned their eyes to you. In fact, everyone on stage was looking at you. The audience was screaming, and you thought you heard your name a few times, but it was impossible to make anything out, and a screaming audience at a concert wasn’t exactly unusual. Your heart still plummeted, though, and you wondered if you’d done something wrong. You made eye contact with Piper, standing off to your right, and she nodded encouragingly and motioned toward you as if to say _turn around_.

You did, and what you saw almost made you drop your mic. Your jaw practically hit the floor.

There, on one knee in front of you, was Shayne. He was holding a little blue box, and inside the box was the most beautiful ring you’d ever seen. He was smiling up at you, hope and adoration in his eyes. As your band-mates launched into the second chorus of the song, you nodded enthusiastically and allowed Shayne to put the ring on your finger. The audience was going insane. He pulled you into a tight hug.

“I promise I’m gonna get it right this time. I love you so much,” he said. You nodded against him. When he pulled back, he laughed softly and reached up to wipe his thumb over your cheek; you realized with a start that you were crying. “Happy tears?” he asked, just loudly enough that you could make it out over the noise.

You nodded and leaned in to kiss him. You weren’t normally big on PDA, and you were pretty sure kissing in front of a concert hall full of people definitely counted as PDA, but you figured you could make an exception just this once. When you pulled away and brought the mic back up to your mouth to sing, you kept one arm around his shoulders and hardly took your eyes off him. You could feel yourself missing your choreography, but you didn’t care. Your world had narrowed to just the two of you. Shayne, the love of your life, your _fiancé_ , standing next to you with the biggest smile you’d ever seen, looking at you like you were his everything.

You finished the song and kissed Shayne again before he had to get offstage. He leaned in to whisper in your ear, “I’ll see you after the show. Knock ‘em dead, beautiful.”

And then he went backstage. A minute later, you saw him return to his seat in the audience, where he was almost immediately engulfed in a patented Damien Bear Hug. You smiled at your friends and then turned back to the audience. They had only marginally quieted down since the end of the song. You brought the mic to your mouth. “I’m engaged, ya’ll!”

A fresh round of cheering erupted and your band-mates rushed over to wrap you in a group hug. You felt another few tears spill over and wiped them away. You’d only felt joy like this a handful of times, and it more than made up for all the sadness Shayne had caused you.

You knew, as you launched into Nothing Else Matters, that this was the beginning of a long, happy future. Your life with Shayne would, of course, have its ups and downs, but after everything, you knew this for sure: with him by your side, you could weather any storm that came your way. And he was more than worth it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> links to mentioned songs:  
> * forget you not (work title) -- https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=skLx8dB0GGc  
> * nothing else matters (chapter title, mentioned) -- https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VG27g5QCWeQ  
> * your love (mentioned) -- https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UftNNOKN7Sg

**Author's Note:**

> at the risk of sounding annoying, [here](https://ko-fi.com/elizawrites) is a link to my ko-fi. if you enjoy what i do, maybe consider buying me a coffee. it's never an obligation, but it would be greatly appreciated. even if you can't/don't want to donate, thank you regardless for taking the time to read my work!!


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